Collision Sparks
by Spiros
Summary: She won't let him stand in the way of her happiness, and he won't allow her to be anything other than his. Slightly AU, post season three, C/B.
1. Road To Perdition

_I've been toying with the idea of writing this for quite some time now. Like some of you, I was less than thrilled with Chuck and Blair in season four. I understand the need to maintain a level of drama, but the writer in me wanted to see how they would turn out if did things my way._

_This story is dedicated to my dear friend Miss P, who reads everything I send her without complaint and has encouraged me to do this from day one. Enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: All characters are property of the CW, Gossip Girl and its writers who force me to dream up plots more to my liking._

* * *

><p>Five years. It had been five years since she had left the city and him. But despite having seen numerous photos of her in local and international papers- or perhaps it was <em>because<em> of his meticulous documentation of her- he was unprepared for the shock of seeing her in person.

After becoming the youngest billionaire in the city at 17, he made it a point to be aware of everything that happened in what the papers referred to as his "kingdom". No detail slipped past him when he set his sights on something he wanted, whether his endgame was alliance or destruction. He continued the relationships his late father had established and forged new ones that increased his empire's revenue tenfold. The legacy his father left him expanded quickly under his power.

Not only was he business-savvy, he also seemed to have Lady Luck on his side. If a business deal seemed in danger of turning sour, a game-changing fact suddenly came to light at the eleventh hour. Companies that once scoffed at the idea of selling their business were shaking hands enthusiastically with him on the front page of the_ New York Times_ the next week. Once, a board member confided in him a sticky situation: his mistress threatened to tell his wife about their affair if he didn't leave her. Before the day was done, the mistress had quietly relocated to an apartment across the country and had even signed a contract agreeing to never contact the gentleman again.

He wasn't above bribing, threatening, or blackmailing to achieve his desired result.

And if his uncanny way of learning everyone's dark secrets wasn't enough, he had a few hand-picked private investigators ready to garner any tidbits he wasn't able to collect himself. This was how he had earned and maintained his reputation as a shrewd and formidable businessman, and he had easily become a millionaire many times over even without his father's fortune.

He had achieved infamy long before he took the reigns of his empire. His sexual prowess was legendary, as was his voracious appetite. He soon became known as the city's most nefarious bachelor, and women gladly let themselves be used and discarded by him.

His features could only be described as classic. It was as if his body had allowed itself to be molded by his personality: sharp, clean, and devilishly handsome. Accentuating his crisp features was his unmistakable fashion- which, to his amusement, often landed him in the Style section of magazines. The rakish and irresistible charm he exuded earned his reputation as a notorious playboy that burned through more dates in a week than there were hours in a day.

He was impenetrable. He could possibly give the Devil himself the fight of his life. He was, for all intents and purposes to everyone who knew him, simply omnipotent.

What he was not was a man who was easily surprised.

So when he saw a familiar brunette walking with a purpose down 5th Avenue from his limo's window, he nearly threw himself out of the moving vehicle without telling his driver to stop. She was supposed to be out of the country still. He had made sure he would be informed if she ever returned, since he found it unbearable to be in the same city as her and not be _with_ her.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was one of his PIs, letting him know that _she_ had returned to the city that morning.

_Noted,_ he thought wryly.

The emotions that had invaded upon this unexpected sighting made quick work of him. Just moments ago he had been perusing a business plan he would be presenting to his board of directors that afternoon, and now he couldn't think of anything but her. Her chestnut curls, full pink lips, her perfume of peaches and sweet spices- it began to overwhelm his senses.

He needed to be closer to her than this. _Now_.

Because being the subject of her wrath would be enough to sustain him for years to come. Because even if she passed by him without a word, he would still be able to carry the knowledge that her exquisite body and luscious curls had been within reach.

Because he had to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

After informing his driver of the abrupt change in plans, the limo pulled to the curb half a block from where he spotted her. He threw back the rest of his scotch and savored the way the fiery liquid lingered in his throat. He needed a little pain to prepare him for a confrontation with the only woman who could set his world on fire.

She was in a texting flurry- probably with caterers or her maid- so she was not yet aware of his presence. He took the opportunity to drink in the sight of her with her guard down. Her pencil skirted dress drew attention to her slender waist and the cap sleeves emphasized the toning of her fair-skinned arms. Her heels accentuated her shapely legs, which he was convinced had become even more tantalizing since her had seen her in person.

He had, after all, _heard_ plenty. His sister was her best friend, and she couldn't stop gushing about the new season's colors let alone the more intriguing details of her friend's life. And it certainly didn't help that she and his best friend still kept their weekly phone dates they had established during college. In fact, she had kept in close contact with nearly all of his family and close friends.

But he knew her, and was well aware that she was allowing him to be privy to her life.

What she wished him to see, at least.

He could guess the reason for her return to the city. His best friend had told him that she had begun a new relationship overseas. His sister became strangely mute when he slipped her name casually into conversation at brunch that week. They were divulging just enough to make him curious, and he had already been in touch with his PI. Before the day was over, he hoped to know exactly what was going on in her life.

This turn of events, however, could expedite things. He could hear it straight from the horse's mouth if he played his cards right.

He leaned suavely back on his limo and let his roguish features relax. He was lucky she was distracted; under other circumstances she would have sensed him before she saw him. He liked the element of surprise. Catching her off guard was the surest way to get a natural response from her. _And find out what she's doing here_, he thought as she had finally gotten close enough to him for him to speak.

"It's a shame," he drawled lazily, loud enough for her to hear over the street and foot traffic. She jumped slightly and her eyes flew up to his face. "Had I known you would be in town, I wouldn't have greeted you empty-handed."

"You," she hissed, hastily masking her surprise with a perfected society face. In the moment it took her to gather her wits, she took in the figure of the man she once thought she would grow old with.

For the love of God, he had gotten even more alluringly handsome. She wouldn't have thought it possible if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes. He had his hands in the pants pockets of his custom tailored black Italian suit and a sultry pout on his lips, and she trembled inside at the striking sight. His face had taken on a worldly appearance, as if he had been through much more than his lackadaisical posture suggested.

_Damn him_, she thought. Under no circumstances could she allow herself to be drawn in by his deep brown eyes or his self-assured manner. She had to force herself to stifle any urges he ignited in her.

"Isn't it a little early in the day for you to be trolling for unsuspecting women to abuse?" she sneered. "Don't you have something important to do?"

"The beauty of owning most of this city is that it does a fairly good job of running itself," he chuckled lightly. "And you know well enough that women _beg_ for the pleasure of my company."

"It's unbelievable that you haven't exhausted every woman within a 50 mile radius," she scoffed. "Unless you've developed a more masculine taste?"

He smiled suggestively in response. He knew she would never lose her sharp tongue, but it was surprising how easily they slipped back into old habits. She was still perfection, and he knew he was in trouble. It would have been better if she had walked past him without a glance. With just a few words exchanged, he was utterly lost.

He fixed his dark brown eyes on her then, pulling her into a gaze she was never able to resist. "Have lunch with me."

"That didn't sound like a request," she responded testily as she shifted on her feet.

"It wasn't," he agreed.

"I want nothing to do with you. And something tells me you already know everything there is to know about my life," she replied confidently. "Find someone else to fill the gap in your social calendar."

"Reservations are in 20 minutes."

"I said no."

"In the end you'll say yes," he said. "Get in the limo. We can discuss your vehement loathing for me on the way. Or are you too afraid you'll find that you're still in love with me?"

"No one could ever love such an egotistical sociopath," she spat, lifting her chin in contempt.

"And you'd be hard pressed to find someone willing to deal with your love of power, _dear_," he countered with a leer.

_Oh, but I have,_ she wanted to say.

"The only way to get what you want in life is to take control," she replied instead.

"And I only like you in control when handcuffs-"

"You're abhorrent."

"-and sweet, painful torture are involved."

"You must have confused me with someone else."

"Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

She scoffed and changed tactics. "Tell me, have your whores discovered the camera behind the two way mirror yet? I hadn't read of any lawsuits of late, but those can be quietly settled out of court."

He smirked then. It would have been imperceptible to anyone watching them, but when you knew him the way that she did, the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth was akin to shouting in a library. She wanted to claw it off his face.

"You didn't mind it. In fact, I seem to recall you enjoying the instant replay-"

She grabbed hold of his jacket lapels and kicked him hard in his shin. He managed to bite back a curse but couldn't help grimacing. She allowed herself to a small smile as she released his jacket and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What were you saying about control?"

"Did I speak too a little too truthfully, princess?" he gritted through clenched teeth. "It's pointless to deny how excited you get by watching me make love to you."

"Does your brain even know how to construct a factual thought?" she snapped, ignoring his last statement purposefully. "Or are lies the only things that can make it out of your repulsive mouth? Because, let's face it, I don't think 'I've never had an STD' counts as fact. Do I need to remind you about that blonde bimbo you picked up in St. Tropez?"

"It had been quite some time since I'd visited a nude beach," he said smoothly. "That sunburn was well worth the gossip that it inspired."

Her eyes widened a fraction and she huffed. He saw her fingers begin tapping on her arm from the corner of his eye, a motion that for anyone else conveyed annoyance, impatience, or in his case, disgust. But he knew that in her case it meant something entirely different. He had struck a nerve. It was time to zero in on his prey.

"What's wrong, lover? Jealous it wasn't you who helped me pass a few pleasurable hours on that beach?" He lifted his finger to her jaw as he spoke, tracing the edge down to her chin. Her skin had the look of porcelain and the feel of silk. He could sense the passion in her rising and crashing like waves against her willpower. He had her cornered, and though she would surely deny it with her dying breath, he still affected her.

She forced herself to focus on anything other than the feel of his fingertips on her skin. Her mind raced to recall her favorite Robert Frost poem, Shakespeare's 65th Sonnet, the Emancipation Proclamation, anything- but her body had forgotten her vow to hate him forever and she couldn't focus her thoughts. If she didn't control herself, she'd be trembling and swooning soon. And _that_ was unacceptable.

But the pull between them was undeniable, crackling and charged, evident to any who were in the same vicinity. His crass innuendo coaxed out her passions and her frosty deportment reminded him of days long gone, of secret meetings and feelings denied. She had moved on and envisioned herself immune to him after all this time. He, however, hadn't gone a day without thinking of her.

His thumb had begun tracing her bottom lip tenderly, pulling her from her flustered recapitulation of Dante's Nine Layers of Hell- of which she would certainly be all too familiar with if she didn't escape him soon.

She slapped his hand away with a frown.

"I'm grateful I had the good sense to stop you from marring my reputation any further," she snapped. "Or I would have found myself unfit to be accepted into any respectable circles in society."

"I assure you, I would never do anything to endanger your reputation." His voice had dropped seductively and his fingers reached up to tuck a perfect curl behind her ear.

She crinkled her nose in disgust and slapped his hand away again, her eyes never leaving his.

"Stop doing that," he growled.

"Keep your hands away from me," she commanded.

"Afraid of how good it will feel?"

"I'm much more concerned about where your hands have _been_."

"Nowhere yours haven't been as well," he smarmed, his voice clipped and husky.

"Ugh," she spat. "You haven't become any less disgusting."

"And you, kitten, have become a terrible liar."

"There's that talk of lies again," she smiled sweetly. "If you knew how to spot the truth, you'd know that I would love nothing more than to be rid of you. Immutably."

She saw his jaw clench and raised her eyebrows tauntingly, keeping the smile on her face. He was boring holes into her soul and she could tell he was annoyed by her evasiveness. If she didn't escape soon she would be forced to divulge more than she intended to. She was also exercising considerable restraint from throttling the smug look off his face, and as much as he deserved it, she knew his stepmother would be less than pleased if she resorted to violence.

"If you'll excuse me," she said, tugging her purse back up to the crook of her arm from where it had slipped during their exchange. "I have some shopping to do."

"I'll accompany you," he stated, his eyes smoldering. "You wouldn't want to find yourself alone and unable to zip up the dress you're buying for tonight, would you?"

"Let me explain this concisely," she enunciated slowly, taking a step towards him so that he could feel the venom coming from her lips. "I'll be shopping _alone_. You are heinous and will never be welcome to accompany me anywhere. Do not presume to speak to me ever again. Enjoy your lunch."

With that, she turned on her heel and began walking down the street, curls bouncing and head held high. She had outmaneuvered him this time, but she would have to step her game up if she wanted to continue winning their verbal sparring matches. He was a predator and would stalk her tirelessly until his desired outcome was realized.

Suddenly she was seized by a terrifying thought that made her breath catch in her throat: what if she had just enticed him further?

It was only when she stepped into a brightly lit boutique at the end of the block that she allowed herself to relax and exhale. She blamed her racing heartbeat on the rush she got from being caught off guard, forced back into a battle of wits she was now unaccustomed to. How dare he accost her in the middle of the street and order her to share a meal with him? Not to mention his inappropriate reference of past intimacies that she'd done her utmost to forget. It had been five years, and he still behaved as though he owned everything he touched. Irredeemable, loathsome bastard.

Pushing him from her mind, she sighed in ecstasy as she looked over the sparse racks filled with designer labels and fine garments. Perhaps some couture would help clear her mind and formulate a plan of attack. After all, her wardrobe would not be flown in until the next day, and she missed the familiarity of American fashion. She did not yet know that the fluttering in her stomach from their encounter would not subside anytime soon.

"Until tonight," he had murmured, allowing himself the pleasure of watching her perfectly formed legs strut down the sidewalk until she disappeared into a store. This round may have gone to her, but if she thought it would be enough to deter him, then she had gravely underestimated him. The spark of desire he still carried for her had just been fanned into a roaring inferno, and their brief encounter hadn't even begun to whet his appetite. He turned with a parting glance at the shop she had entered and returned to his limo a few paces away. Once inside, he pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and pressed a number on his speed dial.

"I need eyes," he spoke into the receiver when the call connected. "I want detailed reports delivered to me daily: who she talks to, what she talks to them about, and anything else you can dig up. Try to relay important details more expeditiously this time."

He didn't bother waiting for an affirmative before hanging up. Before the limo crawled back onto the busy street, he directed his driver to make one more stop before returning to the office. He sipped on a freshly poured scotch, relishing the taste. It occurred to him that she was like his poison of choice: strong, fiery, and intoxicating.

This time, he would make damned sure she ended up with his ring on her finger.


	2. Lock'd Out Again

"Chuck."

He glanced up as the blonde breezed into his penthouse. The heels of her boots clicked on the floor and grated on his nerves. If that bothered him, he thought, then he needed to start drinking or it would be a long night. She crossed her arms across her chest and put on her best "take me seriously or else" face, which Chuck nearly scoffed at.

"Sister, what a pleasant surprise," he drawled, reaching for the scotch decanter on his wet bar.

Serena sighed. "Do I even need to ask?"

He poured a glass and took a long drink. The liquor burned deliciously; an exquisite kind of pain. "If this is about the girls you heard during Nathaniel's call to you last night-"

"I'm busy, so I'll make this short," she cut him off, itching to tap her foot impatiently. "Whatever it is you're planning, stop. Stay away from Blair."

He was taken aback. No one saw him speak with Blair that morning, he was sure of it. He knew there was a possibility she would call Serena and inform her of their impromptu meeting, but not so quickly. He'd obviously gotten under her skin. The thought made him hopeful. He knew her best friend would have to be placated, however. She was wildly protective of Blair and would do everything in her power to keep him away from her if she considered him a threat. And he couldn't have her jeopardizing his plans of reminding Blair that they were inevitable.

"It was a chance encounter," he began, injecting the tone of his voice with honeyed innocence. "I was on my way to lunch and saw her strolling along 5th. I wanted to ask her how she's doing since I haven't seen her in years."

Serena snorted and rolled her eyes. "You know she's okay. Do you think I don't pick up on your nonchalant inquiries about her at brunch every week? Don't try to deny it, Chuck. She's moved on and is much happier now. Can't you just let her go?"

He nodded as if lost in his thoughts. It would be prudent of him to let Serena think he merely entertained a vague curiosity about Blair rather than a desire to make her his again. She needed to believe that his interest had been satisfied and he had forgotten about her. As if he ever _could_.

"You're right, sis," he said, moving from behind his wet bar. "I merely wanted to sample a vintage I once enjoyed. Just to ensure the taste hadn't changed, of course."

"Ew."

"But it's obvious that Blair has indeed moved on," he added.

Serena eyed him skeptically but relaxed. She uncrossed her arms and tugged her purse strap higher on her shoulder. "Good. Because she _is_ happy now. It may have taken some time, but she's in a good place. Nicolas is perfect for Blair."

"Nicolas," Chuck repeated softly, testing the name on his tongue. It felt like acid. "Of course. He certainly is."

Serena's phone rang from inside her purse. It took considerable effort to keep himself from growling in frustration at the interruption. She produced it and sighed loudly, looking at Chuck with a tired expression. He gestured for her to take the call, and she answered as she stalked towards the kitchen.

"Mom," she greeted. "Yes, I got the Marchesa gown for next week's benefit. The one on my bed is for tonight…"

As she rounded the corner and her voice faded, Chuck gulped down the remainder of his scotch. He'd known that Blair was seeing someone. Nate had mentioned it a few times in recent months. But the only name that should be uttered before the statement "perfect for Blair" was _his_. He immediately sent a text to Matthew, his PI, letting him know that he needed an update as soon as possible. Within moments he received word that the information would be couriered over before the hour was up. Satisfied, Chuck's thoughts turned to the plan he had begun formulating in his mind.

Grand gestures had always helped smooth over the problems he and Blair had in the past. This time should be no different, he reasoned. He would fill her apartment with peonies or lavish her with gifts of diamond necklaces- anything to get her attention. Once he achieved that, it would take little effort to get her to agree to dinner. He'd apologize for everything he had done in the past, convince her that his feelings had never changed, and she'd fall back into his arms. He'd make her fairytale romance came true and she wouldn't be able to deny him anymore.

Serena came back into his field of vision, intruding on his plotting. "Sorry about that," she explained. "Mom wanted to-"

Her phone rang again, cutting her off. Her eyes flicked to Chuck as she checked the caller ID. _Blair_. She stared back at the phone for a beat, wrestling with herself over whether or not to answer it. She could let voicemail pick it up, but what if it was important? Blair seemed to have everything under control. Then again, she was a master at hiding disaster and chaos.

"Hey Blair," she said, smiling brilliantly as she answered the phone. Chuck's eyes snapped to Serena's face. "Is everything okay? No, I got my dress a few days ago. 6:30 for cocktails, right? I'll be on time! No, Nate's coming with his mom- have I seen Chuck?"

Chuck's eyes narrowed faintly at his sister, as if he could listen in on the other end of the call simply by willing it. Blair wanted to know if Serena had seen him, but why?

"Not yet," Serena lied, looking pointedly away from Chuck's determined gaze. "I'm on my way over there now- Blair, I won't. Everything will be fine, he won't cause a scene. Tonight will be amazing. Okay, I'll see you then. Bye."

"Blair doesn't want me to cause a scene?" He asked when Serena dropped her phone back into her purse. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Chuck," she started. "It's understandable. I mean, this is _Blair_ we're talking about here."

"I don't follow."

"That's why I'm here. She told me she saw you this morning and you were...assertive," Serena explained patiently. Chuck smiled to himself; he was sure Blair had used a stronger adjective. "She's put a lot of thought into this, and she's worried it won't go as planned if you're there."

The Blair Waldorf he knew would never take a red-eye from Paris to New York City the morning of a party, no matter how important Serena insisted it was. His fiery brunette liked to be right in the thick of things, ordering people around and making sure her vision came to life before her very eyes. She was not one to let others execute her extensive preparations, lest something go wrong. Besides, what party or event would she absolutely need to host in the States, when her life was an eight-hour flight away? Blair had lived in France for nearly five years and would soon be eligible for citizenship. Any committees or foundations she was involved with would be there. Her career and new friends were there.

It didn't make sense. He was clearly missing important information. If his PI had texted him what he needed to know instead of sending it over, he wouldn't be at the mercy of his sister right now.

Then it hit him: Blair had caught him off guard deliberately, knowing that he hated to feel so powerless. He would even wager that the phone call he'd overheard was meant to ignite this exact conversation. Serena may be an unknowing participant, but his Queen B knew precisely what game she was involved in. She had told everyone to keep the details of her soiree under wraps out of fear that he would spoil it. And everyone had indeed kept it from him, as if their loyalties lay only with _her_.

The thought infuriated him. But there was something else tugging at the back of his mind, something that was still not adding up. Blair hadn't seen or heard from him in years, so why was she so concerned about his attendance at her f_ê_te?

Chuck knew the only way to get what he wanted from Serena was to provoke her. "Fortunately," he speculated, running his fingers along his jaw line. "You don't have to receive an invitation to attend a private affair. After all, the most important parties to attend are the ones you're not invited to."

Serena looked stricken. Blair was explicit in her directions on the phone: _Chuck Bass would not, under any circumstances, be allowed to attend._ She could feel the anger rolling off of her brother, but she knew she had to do her best to convince him not to go. "If she didn't invite you, then I don't think you should come tonight, Chuck."

"Why not? I heard you tell Blair that you're meeting Nathaniel there, so I'll escort you. She would be upset if you came alone, or with anyone beneath you. Like that _Humphrey_…"

"But-"

"Cocktails at 6:30, you said? I'll send my limo to pick you up at 6."

"I think it's a bad idea."

He caught the panic in her eyes and saw his opportunity to get the truth. Painting a smirk on his face, he said, "Is it a bad idea because you think I'm harboring secret feelings for her? Or because Blair is still in love with me?"

"Because this is Blair's engagement party, Chuck!" Serena responded forcefully, losing her patience.

He was thrown. He blinked once, twice, and still couldn't find any words. Now he understood the problem. Blair was engaged_?_ Why hadn't she mentioned anything that morning? It seemed like an important thing to tell someone you had known for nearly your entire life, tumultuous past or not. On top of being unaware Blair was back until catching a glimpse of her on the street, he had no idea that she was getting married. The thought incensed him and clouded his vision. He was torn between throwing his now empty tumbler at the wall and informing Matthew that his services were no longer required.

Blair was _his_, whether she chose to acknowledge it yet or not.

Serena was completely oblivious to the shock she had just delivered. "She hasn't told me why, but she obviously has her reasons for not asking you to come. I'm not sure I would want you there either if I were her, with all of the history you two have together."

He finally managed to growl through tight lips, "She's _engaged_?"

Serena's eyes widened at his murderous look. "You- you didn't know?" He jerked his head, eyes dangerous and now trained directly on her. The last time she had seen him look so frightening was at his father's funeral. "I'm so sorry, Chuck. I just assumed you knew…why wouldn't she tell you?"

"You said it yourself," he bit. "She doesn't want me to ruin anything."

"I didn't think she would deliberately keep her engagement from you," she responded softly.

Chuck moved to his couch and sat down slowly. "Serena," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose and clamping his eyes shut. He had to control the rage that was building inside him. She needed to believe that he wasn't hurt by the news of Blair's engagement, and losing his temper in front of Serena would only serve to hurt his cause. "I think it's best that you leave. You're right, and I won't go against her wishes. I'll still send the limo for you. Please give Blair my best."

At Chuck's words, Serena's eyes grew soft. She had hoped his feelings were simply residual, given there was really no closure for her two friends, but the tone in his voice told her otherwise. Her heart ached for him. Even after years had gone by with no communication between the two of them, he still cared deeply for her. Serena's anger at her stepbrother from earlier had completely evaporated, though she still worried what he would do now that he knew the truth. Would he fight for Blair even knowing that she was officially spoken for, or would he decide to move on?

"I'll go. I'm sorry," Serena whispered sincerely. "But everything will be alright, I promise. I'll see you at brunch this weekend, okay?" She leaned in to kiss him on his cheek and put her hand on his arm in reassurance. "She's really happy now. She and Nicolas belong together, you'll see. Goodbye, Chuck."

He forced a half-hearted smile at his sister as the elevator doors opened with a soft _ding_. She walked in, pressed the floor button, and then reached out to hold the door as it was closing.

"By the way, Chuck," she said sweetly. "I know all about last night and the strippers. You're not the only one with spies." She winked at him and let the doors slide closed.

His smile was genuine as he walked to his bedroom. Serena could occasionally be a stereotypical blonde, but she was unwaveringly loyal and more intelligent than she let on. She played the role she had been cast in by the world around her perfectly: a golden-haired heiress with a provocative style and sugary disposition. Serena could have anything she wanted as long as she remained beautiful. Chuck was amused by the masks that she wore- temptress, airheaded blonde, revenge-seeking Queen- especially when they affected the outcome of various schemes over the years.

Schemes that he and Blair were unmatched at designing and executing.

Seeing Blair that morning had certainly stirred his passions, but hearing Serena tell him of her engagement split open wounds he thought had scarred long ago. He knew Blair would become serious about someone eventually- now that he thought about it, he wondered why it had taken her this long- he just assumed that "someone" would be him. His feelings for Blair had never been extradited, only repressed.

He dated frequently since she left the country. Most of his liaisons lasted weeks, but a few were more prolonged. One relationship managed to survive seven months. When it was speculated by the tabloids that Chuck Bass would take a wife, the rumor was put to rest within the week.

The beauties that captured his attention quickly lost it- they gave in too easily or they made the mistake of chasing him in return. He immediately dismissed any woman who bore a slight resemblance to Blair. Most nights, he was seen at openings of restaurants or art galleries draped in expensive suits and beautiful women. His natural charm ensured that he would never have to spend a night alone. This he counted on for more than just satisfying his sexual urges.

Chuck knew that Blair, wherever she was in the world, made sure she was up-to-date on the happenings in her beloved city. New York City was constantly changing- a club bursting at the seams one night lost its patrons to a new establishment the next. He knew she could still rattle off the names of the twenty hottest places on the Upper East Side without blinking an eye, simply out of habit.

However, being privy to the latest gossip was paramount to being cognizant of the next best Asian cuisine restaurant. And Blair was like him: she prided herself on knowing everything before it became public knowledge.

He was the city's richest bachelor, young and sinfully handsome. His personal style set him apart from everyone else. He could fill a library with pictures the press had taken of him since he was an adolescent, thanks to his high-profile family. His presence was demanded at events across the city: from attending a gallery opening to being a distinguished guest speaker at a fundraiser. He practically owned Manhattan and had expanded considerably to the remaining boroughs of the city as well as the rest of the state. Simply put, he was New York royalty.

When he smirked for photographers with his arm around a breathtaking model, he was imagining the look on her face when she saw it the next day in the papers. She would feel stabs of jealousy every time, realize she still loved him and then beg to be his again. He would have staked his fortune against any other outcome.

His scheme may have been working, but he hadn't bargained for another man stepping in. _Nicolas_. It was difficult for Chuck to think his name without sneering; this Frenchman had completely derailed his master plan. Blair would have come back to him, he was sure of it. Now it wasn't enough to be Chuck Bass, billionaire and extraordinary lover. He had to become better than Blair's fiancé.

_Fiancé._

He shook his head in disgust, feeling the bile creeping up his throat. He felt nauseous, and Chuck Bass was never weak. His eyes found the bar in the corner of his penthouse and he considered it for a moment. Another drink would grant him a brief peace, but would also hinder his ability to think, to analyze the angles of this new development. He needed to be on top of his game for this.

_No more for now_, thought Chuck.

His elevator door opened again and a short man in slacks and a polo shirt entered. Chuck mentally shuddered at the plain attire; he would never own such pedestrian garb.

"Mr. Bass?" the man asked, trying unsuccessfully not to look around the penthouse in wonderment. It wasn't every day that someone like him got to see where the Upper East Side's notorious playboy lived and…played. He held a thick envelope in his hands. Chuck got to his feet and took it from him, signaling that his job was done and he could leave. Relief flooded him as he grasped the information sent by his PI. He pointedly ignored the sounds of the courier marveling at his décor as he shuffled out.

Once he had torn open the envelope, an assortment of newspaper and magazine clippings, documents, and photographs spilled onto his hands. He scanned the contents, searching for the most important information first. A photo filled with brown hair in perfect curls caught his eye.

It was Blair, shown walking with a dark haired man down a busy street. The time stamp showed that it was taken that morning, before he saw her, and he took a brief moment to appreciate the tantalizing dress she wore once more. His eyes narrowed as he reached her face and took in the way Blair smiled at the man that held her hand. Only his profile was visible, but Chuck already knew he would be handsome. Blair never dated beneath her. She certainly would never agree to marry anyone unfortunate looking.

She looked radiant. She looked lighthearted and incredibly happy. He nearly crumpled up the photo in disgust.

God, he was _jealous_.

Envy was an irregular emotion for him, and one he would perhaps never be able to control. Growing up as the son of a self-made billionaire, he hadn't wanted for anything. Toys, clothes, the latest technologies; as he grew older, lavish vacations, perfectly aged scotch, priceless information- he was rich enough to have it all. Chuck Bass knew not how to want. Actual need was a foreign concept to him.

Until Blair.

Chuck had secretly coveted her since he met her as a child. As they grew up, his feelings increased and came to a head when her relationship with Nathaniel was falling apart. She was his toughest critic next to his father and a schemer at heart. She was his equal. But it was more than that. He wanted her to _want_ something from him that she couldn't get anywhere else. She finally did come to him the night she broke up with Nate. But as she surrendered her virginity to him in the back of his limousine, he couldn't have known just how much things would change. How much he would change.

After that night, he couldn't contain his need for her. He needed her writhing underneath his touch, he needed her scathing looks in his direction, he needed her sharp tongue and quick wit. She drove him to the brink of insanity and had been maddeningly close to pushing him off many times. They completed each other. There was no one else in the world that would understand and love them both for exactly who they are.

Since he melted the Ice Queen, his emotionless life had become intimately familiar with want and need. The difference between them; the deranged things each drove him to do.

He wanted her because he needed her. Chuck and Blair. Blair and Chuck. _Inevitable_. It was that simple. And he needed to strengthen that sacred bond between them before he lost her forever.

To _Nicolas._

Chuck stiffened. He had been picking through the documents on the table when he came across a small French newspaper article.

_**M. Nicolas Faria Takes Wife in Private Ceremony at Country Home**_

The article was short, but included a grainy picture. The brunette facing a tall, dark haired man at the end of an aisle couldn't have been anyone but Blair. He was dumbfounded for the third time that day, and it was only mid-afternoon. He was never caught unawares that frequently. Blair must have done everything in her power to keep her secrets from him. But if she was already married, then why was she hosting an engagement party that evening? And why wouldn't she have told Serena about it?

He rifled through the remainder of the file's contents, but found nothing else. The article was dated six months ago. He had no qualms with being the reason she got a divorce, but he knew it would be difficult to persuade her to do so. However, he needed to drive himself between them before their marriage progressed further. A limited time frame just meant grander and bolder gestures. No woman could resist him once he focused all of his energy on her. Not even Blair Waldorf.

It was a good thing he had stopped at Cartier on his way back to the office that morning. Even better that he had the foresight to send his gift straight to her apartment.

Chuck smirked to himself as he crossed to his bedroom and pulled his Armani tuxedo from his closet. Serena and Blair were fooling themselves if they thought he would stay away from Blair's engagement party. He would be on his best behavior tonight to prove that she had nothing to fear from him.

And starting tomorrow, he would work ruthlessly to win back her heart.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you, thank you, <span>thank you<span> to those who reviewed my story: maryl, epicCHAIR, LY33, LisaLevine, QueenBee10, mlharper, ain, TriGemini, tiff xoxo, LeftWriter224, Curious Blonde, obsessed, 3 wishes and ChairLoveK. Also a special thanks to those who added me to your alerts- I'm beside myself with joy. There aren't any words to express how grateful I am for your support in my first fanfiction effort._

_I hope that you continue to enjoy the story I have planned. Please let me know if you have any questions, comments, suggestions...anything. (I promise to respond as quickly as possible!) This chapter came a little early- from here on out I'm thinking weekly updates._


	3. Destiny

_Lunch tomorrow. Wear these._

_-C_

Blair stared at the handwritten note and resisted the urge to scream. A pair of exquisite diamond earrings glinted up at her from a blood-red box on the table, daring her to touch them. Chuck had gone too far this time. Thankfully, Nicolas had forgotten his cufflinks and had gone to pick up a new pair, leaving Blair alone in her apartment for the time being. She didn't want him to know that her ex seemed to be actively pursuing her again. She could handle Chuck on her own without worrying Nicolas.

She'd been furious when Dorota presented her with a package upon arriving home. When Blair sent her maid back to New York from France the week before, she had given her a strict set of instructions to prepare for Blair and Nicolas' arrival as well as their lavish engagement party. One of those tasks had been to make sure nothing entered her apartment unless it pertained to the event itself. It seemed Dorota had forgotten that. Now Blair was left with a Cartier box full of flawless diamonds set in platinum, which she couldn't decide whether to throw out the window or send back to the Basstard.

This was _her_ night, and he had already begun to ruin it. She wished he would go away and leave her in peace. Her life had finally come together: she had a successful career at _Elle_ in Paris that had allowed her to transfer home to the Upper East Side and a wonderful man by her side. After a lifetime of falling short and being _not enough_, she had her fairytale. Nicolas wasn't a prince, but he was exceedingly wealthy and received in the best circles in French society. They were beloved among their friends and acquaintances and were the couple that all others were measured against.

The pair spent their last week in Paris in each other's arms, making love each night well into the early morning hours. They browsed their favorite galleries hand in hand for artwork to send to their new apartment in New York City. People watched them enviously as they sat close to each other at candlelit tables, sharing lovers' secrets. He held her tightly against him as they walked down the rue Mouffetard in the evenings. It wasn't opulent, but it meant a great deal to the two of them: he had taken her there when they began dating over a year ago. That afternoon, she had fallen in love with more than just the atmosphere.

"_The rue Mouffetard?" Blair asked incredulously as they walked down the narrow street._

_Nicolas grinned. "Oui, is there a problem?"_

_She made an effort to twist her lips into a polite smile. Couldn't he take her somewhere more...well, more? She was Blair Waldorf, not some common tourist trying in vain not to stick out like a sore thumb around the Parisians. She might as well have been born in France. In fact, she needed to speak with someone as soon as possible concerning her immediate consideration for dual French and American citizenship._

_No matter how vulgar the suggestion was, she was raised with a strict sense of propriety- one she wasn't going to compromise just because Nicolas took her somewhere beneath her. She would look at his suggestion as a challenge: when the afternoon ended, she'd go home to take a long bubble bath as her reward for putting up with his terrible idea. Dorota would serve her macaroons on her monogrammed silver tray and she'd sip wine from her father and Roman's vineyard. Yes, that was exactly how Blair Waldorf would handle this situation: with grace, and the promise of rewards._

"_No," she replied. "There's no problem."_

_Nicolas' brilliant smile grew wider. "Good. I was afraid I'd scare you off."_

_She stopped walking and turned to face him. "Excuse me?"_

_He cleared his throat. "Please forgive me Blair, but I feel that it is my duty to tell you," he leaned in close so that she could feel his breath tickling her ear. "You're a bit of a snob."_

_She was stunned. As he pulled away from her, he took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the pulse on her wrist. He winked mischievously as his soft lips left her skin, which had heated considerably since he touched her. Her pulse pounded in her ears and the voice in her head sighed in contentment. The sounds around them faded to pleasant background noise, like their surroundings had been a stage set just for them, just for this day. She could feel her eyes shining. Until that moment, Blair had believed she'd never feel that way again._

_Then she remembered he had called her a snob. _

"_I prefer to think of myself as culturally superior," she corrected as haughtily as she could manage._

"_Call it whatever you like," Nicolas responded in his deep, soothing voice. He squared his shoulders and stared down into her large brown eyes. His hands came up to cup her face, the pad of his thumbs rubbing her cheeks lightly. Blair was mesmerized. "You will never be anything short of a queen, Blair. As long as you deign to keep me around I will treat you as nothing less, for life is tasteless and dull without you in it."_

_And it was then that Blair realized she loved Nicolas. _

It was impossible to keep a smile from her face when she thought about that day. The rue Mouffetard became the place they went to when they needed to get away from work and society and just _be in love_. While she reminisced, she could almost convince herself that the earrings lying untouched in front of her were benign. But she knew better. Chuck Bass didn't do anything without a motive, and it didn't take too much guesswork to figure out what he was after.

She called Serena under the pretense of asking about her dress for the evening, but quickly abandoned that charade and demanded that she not breathe a word to Chuck. Serena assured her that he wouldn't cause trouble as she hung up the phone. However, $20,000 worth of diamonds were sitting in front of her to prove he would do just that. Blair glared at the earrings and lifted an eyebrow in contempt. No matter how desperately she willed them to spontaneously combust, they continued to glint up at her. She needed the next best thing.

"Dorota!"

The hurried footsteps of her maid fell lightly on the marble floor, stopping next to her. "Yes, Miss Blair?" she asked with a worried look on her face. The Polish woman was perpetually cautious of Blair's temper, which hadn't waned as the years passed. Thankfully her fiancé's cool demeanor did a decent job of placating her the majority of the time. But because he wasn't around at the moment, anything could happen. She had to be on guard.

"Didn't I tell you that packages were forbidden?"

"Yes," Dorota responded. She was right: her mistress was not in a good mood. "You said deliveries for party only. But I thought engagement gift-"

"Should have been sent directly to the venue," Blair snapped.

The maid fidgeted and her eyes darted as she contemplated what she should say next. "Miss Blair, I know you have anger still for Mister-"

"Don't mention his name! I won't have his destructive aura casting a shadow on my evening," Blair cried forcefully, picking up the Cartier box and shaking it at her maid. The earrings rattled loudly inside. "I'm getting married, Dorota! He's trying to ruin it for me, and this is proof!"

"You want me to get rid of?" Dorota nodded, tentatively reaching for the box. Blair jerked back and slammed it onto the table next to her.

"No," she replied evenly. "I'm keeping them."

"Miss Blair, your face is making war look again."

Blair smiled, her eyes glinting mischievously at her maid. "If the Basshole thinks he can walk back into my life after what he did, he's got another thing coming. I've waited too long for someone like Nicolas and I'll be damned if a selfish womanizer destroys our relationship. This is the last war between us, and I'm going to win."

* * *

><p>On Madison Avenue, her fiancé was having a difficult time.<p>

Nicolas had been to three shops already and still hadn't found cufflinks that Blair would approve of. Dunhill was his last hope as evening approached quickly. He nearly sprinted from his limo to the doors of the store, bursting through and heading straight for the nearest associate. After being directed to the accessory counter, he breathed a sigh of relief at the exceptional choices. He chose a pair that a helpful attendant brought his attention to and returned to his idling limo.

As he drove back to Blair's family penthouse, where they were staying until their own apartment was renovated, he thought about the day they met. Since then, they had told the story so many times that both knew what the other was thinking during their first exchange. It wasn't a glamorous first encounter, nor was it particularly funny, tragic, or embarrassing; it was _normal_. If they had the gift of foresight, they would have known that the first conversation they had would be an accurate prediction of their relationship.

_She was rereading Wuthering Heights one Sunday morning at the café near her apartment, enjoying the beautiful fall weather. That summer in Paris had been particularly stifling and she was determined to take advantage of the first cool days of autumn. She was so entranced by her reading that she had hardly touched her croissant and her orange juice had warmed considerably._

"_Is this seat taken?"_

_Blair had jumped slightly at the voice, having tuned out the sounds of the morning to concentrate on her novel. She frowned and looked up at a man who stood holding the back of a chair across from her. He was tall, with fierce green eyes and wavy dark brown hair that begged her to run her fingers through it. Light stubble covered his jaw, and for a wild moment Blair wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. She shook her head to expel the wanton thoughts, and narrowed her eyes at him._

"_You are American, yes?" He knit his brows together when she didn't answer him right away._

"_You couldn't think of a more original pick-up line?"_

_He smiled then, and suddenly became even more handsome. The laugh lines at the corners of his mouth and his eyes made her pulse jump. She'd gone too long between men if a mere smile could send her heartbeat racing._

"_Unfortunately, I could not," he had said, pulling out the chair and sitting down across from her. He stretched out his hand across the table. "My name is Nicolas."_

"_Blair," she had responded, grasping his hand. It was warm and soft, and she felt herself slowly drowning in his eyes. "But I didn't invite you to sit down."_

"_Ah, yes," he chuckled. "I saw you reading _Wuthering Heights _so intently, and I was compelled to save you from wasting your time. _Jane Eyre _is by far the better of the Brontë sisters' works."_

_Blair was incredulous. "Wasting my time? You've got to be kidding. This is one of the greatest love stories ever written!"_

"_Please," he gestured for her to continue. "Do educate me on the merits of such a destructive and selfish love. I find it to be terribly foul."_

_He had winked at her then, and Blair knew he'd been teasing her. For the next few hours, they had discussed literature and the political climates of France and the United States, as well as their respective backgrounds. He was a native who owned many well-known luxury brands based in France, and had been scouting for up-and-coming retailers when he had noticed her reading, oblivious to the world moving around her. After that morning, they became inseparable._

Nicolas had realized before Blair did that they were meant to be more than just friends. He began asking her on dates frequently, but it took Blair months to accept his offer. He showered her with flowers and gifts, having been exposed to her favorites for months already. _Ladurée m_acaroons were sent at least twice a week to her apartment and she frequently received packages and notes from him when she was at work. She stayed strong for a long time, knowing she would be lost once she gave in to him. He would be able to truly hurt her then and she wasn't sure she wanted to give him that power. Her failed adolescent romance with Nate and her excruciating breakup with Chuck had forced her to be wary of relationships. But she was curious about him, so she convinced herself that friendship wouldn't hurt. If she was honest with herself, she knew she would fall for him from the very beginning.

He was a descendant of Nicolas Fouquet, marquis de Belle-Île, who was the Superintendent of Finances under King Louis XIV for a brief time. When Nicolas told Blair of his ancestry, she recognized the name from the reign of the Sun King: a golden age of wealth, increased patronage of the arts, the famous captain of the musketeers d'Artagnan, and the stage for Alexandre Dumas' _Man in the Iron Mask_. Fouquet was arrested by d'Artagnan himself, his sentence of banishment changed to life in prison by the king. Unknown to the public despite his high-profile case, his mistress gave birth to a son soon after he was jailed. To ensure he would not be plagued by the mistakes of his father, he was given the surname Faria.

Nicolas' family did not share their ancestry freely, preferring to claim they could only trace their lineage back to Nicolas Faria, an illegitimate child born in 1661 who achieved his barony through industrious means. He passed his fortune onto his children, who expanded his wealth considerably as the years passed. The French revolution stripped the family's title away, but they remained wealthy individuals who were involved heavily in French politics, commerce, and exclusive society until the present day.

Nicolas was stifled by the expectations that came from his lineage. When his parents assured him that his older brother would continue the business of the family, he left them to make his mark on the world with their blessing. He was intelligent, but it was a stroke of luck that propelled his career forward. Using some of his inheritance, he purchased a small, derelict boutique that sold vintage luxury clothing on the rue de Lille. After extensive remodeling and rebranding, he staged a grand opening using his family connections and received rave reviews. From then on, his business snowballed.

Now, a few years later, he owned dozens of small boutiques in Paris and several luxury brands. Blair often joked with him that he may not be a prince, but he was royalty enough just for the role he played in Parisian fashion.

He smiled as his car finally pulled up to the Waldorf penthouse. Seeing Blair never failed to get his heart pounding, more so since he had asked her to marry him. The elevator door to the Waldorf apartment opened and Nicolas rushed out to find Blair. She was waiting for him on the settee in her satin robe, her hair falling in loose curls around her face and her legs curled under her. When she heard him call her name, her face lit up and she jumped into his waiting arms. He pressed a passionate kiss on her lips and sighed contentedly.

"Blair, my love," Nicolas murmured as he pulled away and inhaled her sweet scent. "Do you know how difficult it is to find a decent pair of cufflinks in this city?"

Blair laughed lightly as she untangled herself from his embrace. "But you managed?"

He nodded and winked at her. "I'll need your approval though."

Blair beamed at him, then her smile fell slightly. "I got a call today, from my assistant at _Elle_. She said a newspaper in Paris is running a story about our wedding."

"Just one?" Nicolas chuckled. "I can see why you're unhappy. Every paper in the world should be covering our engagement."

"I agree," she started. "But they're printing things about Daddy's vineyard."

He winced. So they hadn't been as thorough as they had hoped.

They had planned to marry in her father's vineyard over six months ago. As a prominent figure in French society, his affairs were closely documented- which to Blair was the equivalent of Gossip Girl but with better cameras, and she was used to it. She thrived on the attention. But some of the press had received information that the rehearsal was really a cover for their wedding. Reporters and paparazzi had flocked to capture the moments. Blair's exquisite white dress didn't help convince the press that they had photographed a rehearsal and not their wedding day, but the couple's families did manage to get the photos retracted the next day.

It wasn't the paparazzi or the false leak that made Blair and Nicolas somber. After the rehearsal that evening, they had called off their engagement. Nicolas had purchased a home for them near Harold and Roman's vineyard as a wedding present for Blair; she had been under the impression that he was purchasing an apartment for them in New York City. Blair's temper had flared up and with an uncharacteristic response, Nicolas had become just as enraged. The result was the couple ending things and retreating to their respective homes. The next day, a distraught Nicolas sought Blair out and apologized for his assumption that they would live in France. It took some coaxing, but Blair forgave him. They resolved to push the wedding back a few months to make sure their relationship hadn't sustained any irreparable damage. Reminiscing about their rash behavior usually made them laugh, but today it carried more weight. On the eve of their engagement party, newspapers in Paris were printing false articles about a ceremony that never took place.

"It's a sign, isn't it? That we shouldn't get married?" Blair asked with a faltering voice. She could feel the painful sting of tears behind her eyes, but forced herself to remind calm.

"No," Nicolas shook his head forcefully. "It's not a sign. The press will print anything they can to sell papers. We're completely fine, Blair. Our only thoughts should be about our future together, which is beginning tonight." He looked down at his watch and whistled softly.

Panicked at his reaction, Blair pushed at his chest. "Are we going to be late?"

"Well, if I had known you'd be alone in the house wearing just this, I wouldn't have been so long this afternoon," Nicolas responded slowly, dragging his gaze up to her wide eyes. His fingers reached out to tug on the sash of her robe. Blair closed her eyes in ecstasy as he leaned in to place a kiss under her ear. "So now we most certainly will be late."

They arrived half an hour late, grinning and slightly flushed. But by the end of the night, Blair would wish they had never shown up at all.

* * *

><p><em>Nicolas Fouquet was a 17<em>_th__ century nobleman who had the misfortune of being tasked with replenishing the France's treasury- a task which had a long, troubled history. He was charming, handsome, brilliant, and an enthusiastic patron of the arts. Fouquet made many enemies- one of which was close to the king- and was eventually accused of financial malpractice, arrested, and imprisoned for 16 years until his death in 1680 . An interesting side note: when his wife and child were not welcome to court as nobles, his son Jacques went on to establish a restaurant on the Champs-Elysees called "Fouquet's Place" that is still in operation today._

_All of this information and more can be found by searching for the biography of Monsieur Fouquet, Vaut-le-Vicomte, or the inspiration for Dumas' _Le Vicomte de Bragelonne_._

_I apologize that there wasn't any C/B interaction in this chapter, but I promise plenty will be delivered in chapter four. Because I know some of you might be concerned: Nicolas is necessary to the story and I hope that you stick around on this journey to find out why. _

_To my amazing readers and reviewers, who brighten up my days with every encouraging word- Curious Blonde, tinamarie333, QueenBee10, chuckandblairftw, batgirl2992, daisyeve, Crystal Twilight, TriGemini, ChairLoveK, pisaniel, myrtle, Maryam25, mlharper, Chair forever, 24hrscout, LeftWriter224, KillerNewton and jamieerin- you're simply the best! And to those who have added alerts- a big thank you to you as well! You all keep me writing for hours on end with your praises.  
><em>

_A quick disclaimer: I don't own Gossip Girl, any of the characters portrayed, or the fashion labels mentioned throughout my story. I only own my plot and Nicolas Faria (who went underwent quite a transformation through the several versions of this chapter). The liberties I've taken with history are also my own, such as Fouquet's illegitimate son. Historians can only speculate that he kept a mistress, and if he did, there is no proof that she carried their child- or is the lack of evidence simply the work of the Faria family?_


	4. Promontory

"When love is not madness, it is not love."

_-Pedro Calderon de la Barco_

Blair congratulated herself on a job well done. Even over 3,000 miles away in Paris, planning her engagement party had been problem-free from start to finish. The Terrace Room at The Plaza Hotel was flawless- long and tiered, ornately decorated and perfectly lit. The elegant French doors were guarded by security and opened up to a fully restored pre-war ballroom. Dazzling crystal chandeliers hung romantically and gold embellishments lined the walls and ceilings. Huge mirrors set in the ornate wall arches gave the illusion that the room was twice as large, though it was already quite impressive. Heavy curtains of Venetian red velvet hung from the archways of the hall across the room, adding a heightened sense of romance.

White tablecloths had been carefully spread over dozens of intimate round tables, the centerpieces on each table accented the room perfectly, and a tasteful string quartet played softly on a stage on the third tier. At first she had been worried about including peonies in the table arrangements, but the name Blair Waldorf was synonymous with high fashion on the Upper East Side, so she trusted her instincts.

It looked like a dream come true.

She had envisioned a simple elegance for the grand ballroom that would complement her guests' attire but ensure that she stood out among them, and it worked. Her crimson Versace gown that she had chosen for the evening made her feel like Scarlett O'Hara, only she wasn't an adulterous woman. Red meant royalty- not sin- tonight. It was strapless, flowing and beaded with thousands of tiny crystals that caught the lights of the room as she walked in on Nicolas' arm. He wore an elegant black Tom Ford tuxedo with a black bowtie, encouraging Blair's dress to stand out. Their guests gasped appreciatively at her bold choice in attire before bursting into warm applause to welcome the couple to their celebration.

Blair's smile was a sight to behold. Even Serena couldn't remember the last time her friend had been so happy, though she hadn't seen her as much in the last five years as she had in the past. But she was glowing and the joy on her face was infectious to all who saw her. The who's-who of the Upper East Side began gossiping immediately about the man Blair Waldorf found in France to make her so ecstatic.

Thankfully, those that greeted them on their way to the hors d'oeuvres released them quickly. The couple was famished after their lovemaking and rush to get ready for the night. Blair couldn't even remember eating anything since breakfast on the plane, and she'd had a long day. Nicolas loaded a plate for them and they retreated to a small table on the second tier to snack hungrily and greet their guests.

"Nicolas!" the familiar voice of his mother rang out after a few short minutes. She swept elegantly towards the couple with a warm smile. "Blair," she greeted her future daughter-in-law, kissing her cheeks. "Do you mind if I borrow him for a moment? I know you just arrived, but-"

"_Mais non_, Jocelyne," Blair interrupted amiably, picking up a small ripe strawberry dipped in gourmet white chocolate. "I see some of my friends now. He's all yours."

Nicolas beamed at his future bride and kissed her forehead tenderly, then offered his arm to his mother. "Thank you for coming, _maman_. You look beautiful this evening."

"This ballroom can make anyone look beautiful! Blair did a fantastic job. But there is someone you must meet, _mon fils_," Jocelyne cooed, leading him to the opposite end of the ballroom. "Your father is already speaking with him. Such an asset to your brand…"

Blair watched tenderly as the pair disappeared into the crowd. Jocelyne was a wonderful woman, strong and determined like herself. Her marriage to Nicolas' father had been arranged, but it grew to be a loving relationship very quickly. Blair couldn't help but admire the fairytale of her future parents-in-law's lives.

Ten minutes later, Blair's head was swimming with felicitations. It was fortunate that she thrived on parties such as these, especially when she was the center of attention. It got her blood going.

"Mother!" Blair exclaimed, having spotting Eleanor and Cyrus a few paces away.

Eleanor kissed her cheeks when she reached her daughter and nodded appreciatively. "Darling, that dress is simply enchanting, even if it is…red."

"Eleanor," Cyrus warned lightly.

"Well, she always said that as soon as she agreed to marry someone, she'd wear white as often as possible. I just expected a white gown, or even cream," her mother explained while Blair looked on with a smile. After a beat, she turned to Blair and said earnestly, "Honestly, I'm quite impressed you made such a bold choice."

Blair smiled brightly. "Well, Nicolas is different. He warrants a new outlook on marriage preparations, and the silly ideals I had as a child."

Cyrus and Eleanor exchanged a warm glance and reached for each others hands. "We're so happy for you," Cyrus said. "You've grown into such a wonderful woman since you moved to France. Your mother and I couldn't be more proud."

"Thank you," Blair hugged her stepfather tightly, then her mother. After sharing a few humorous anecdotes about Eleanor's recent debacle at her atelier and Blair's last days at _Elle_ in Paris, she was swept away by more well-wishers.

"B!" she heard a familiar voice squeal from behind the throng of people she was greeting. Moments later, her best friend pushed through the crowd and placed kisses on Blair's cheeks. She grasped her hands and leaned back to get the full effect of Blair's dress. "You're absolutely gorgeous!"

"Thanks, S," Blair smiled at her friend. She felt a little guilty at the way she relished being the center of attention over her friend, but she dismissed it. Looking her up and down, she said, "And you look…strangely conservative. I'm sure Nate is sorely disappointed in your choice of attire for this evening."

"Oh, come on," Serena laughed. "I wouldn't upstage you on your big night! Plus, Nate's mom still hasn't spoken to me since he told her we're moving in together. It can't hurt to dress like I'm one of her Girls, Inc. members." Serena arched an eyebrow suggestively. "You're awfully late though. What were you two doing?"

Blair lifted her chin to keep the blush out of her cheeks. "Wardrobe crisis."

"I'm sure," Serena responded knowingly. She waived a cocktail waiter over and picked up two champagne flutes. She presented Blair with one and they giggled in excitement. "To the Queen of the Upper East Side and Paris, who finally met her prince!"

Blair grinned and lifted her glass to meet Serena's. The blonde closed her eyes as she tilted the glass back, delighting in the sweet taste and bubbly texture on her tongue. When she lowered her glass, she saw Blair's eyes burning holes past Serena's shoulder. As she turned to follow the steely gaze, she saw the reason for her sudden anger.

"Excuse me, everyone," a velvety voice soared confidently over the polite conversations of the room. "I know it's still early in the evening, but I'd like to make a toast to the happy couple." Every head turned towards the speaker and conversations quickly died, replaced by an apprehensive silence.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Chuck Bass."

* * *

><p>An hour earlier, Chuck had been sitting on the edge of his bed, reflecting on years past. Five years that had passed far too quickly.<p>

If he examined his feelings closely, he could acknowledge that he'd felt guilty the entire time. It seemed that in the end, he had done nothing but hurt Blair. All of the love she opened him up to had changed to something sinister. It was as if he was _trying_ to push her away, to see just how much she cared for him. He had played on her great love for him, tricked her into spending the night with his uncle so that he could have the Empire Hotel back. Weeks later, he had counted on her emotions being strong enough to forgive him of all he had done wrong. When she didn't show at the Empire State Building, he drowned his sorrows by sleeping with Jenny, the social-climbing bimbo from Brooklyn who had a penchant for destruction. But Blair was just late, and when the truth was revealed about Jenny, she had ended things between them for good. He had groveled at her feet then and for days afterwards, begging her to let him spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Chuck never expected Blair to give up on him. She may have screamed at him to never speak to her again, but he was sure she wouldn't be able to hold out forever. After all, she had always known who he was. She knew him better than anyone else, better than he knew himself. Surely she couldn't hold his actions against him.

Chuck Bass never begged and Blair Waldorf did not give up. Those were their inherent truths, the reasons behind their respective _modus operandi_. But not this time, it seemed.

She and Serena had left for a summer in Paris a week later, after she had rebuffed his desperate attempts at reconciliation over and over. When the fall term began for their sophomore year of college, only Serena returned home. She refused to speak to him about Blair for weeks and generally ignored his presence. Only through a private investigator did Chuck learn that Blair had enrolled at Sorbonne. When he realized that she intended to make Paris her new residence, he drank himself into a stupor in typical Chuck Bass fashion and remained that way for two weeks. He didn't care what it was doing to his body or how awful he looked, he just wanted to forget.

He never did.

After a week of silence from the Bass penthouse, Serena and Nate visited and tried to reason with him. He turned them out quickly, but not before they had glimpsed how low he had sunk. They had no choice but to plead with Lily to talk some sense into him. But despite how highly Chuck thought of his adoptive mother, it was days before he would listen to her and put away his scotch. He wouldn't let her see him in his state but assured her on the phone that he would clean himself up and be at a board meeting scheduled the next day. True to his word, he arrived dressed impeccably, giving no hint to the fact that he was nursing the worst hangover he'd ever had.

Of course Blair would be the cause of that.

From that day on, he resolved to give Blair the space she needed to lick her wounds. If he pursued her before she was ready, he knew she would die before she gave in to him. He focused on acquiring new properties and companies, gradually building his own brand and keeping a close eye on Bass Industries. His PI was still following her, but eventually he pulled him off her trail. His mind was a broken record: day after day, he reminded himself she would come back to him sooner rather than later.

Because there was that word again: _inevitable._ Anyone he dated was a placeholder for the woman he would make Mrs. Charles Bass one day. He could be patient.

Chuck pulled himself from his musings and realized the late hour. He quickly put on his tuxedo jacket and glanced in the mirror before striding to his elevator. Blair wouldn't be happy when he showed up tonight, but it was imperative that he keep himself in the forefront of her mind.

_Pretend you don't know she's already married, play along with her charade,_ thought Chuck. _Be a gentleman, and she'll have no reason to refuse you._

* * *

><p>"Shit," Serena cursed under her breath. Blair's eyes were ferocious as she watched her ex address the crowd. Eleanor and Cyrus stood nearby flanked by Lily and her husband Rufus, all eyes darting in concern between the future bride and her former lover.<p>

"Nicolas," Chuck addressed him seriously. "Although I have only just met you this evening, I must warn you that you're in for quite a ride." His words caused a ripple of laughter and light clapping, and even made Nicolas smile at the memories of Blair's temper and control issues. "I've known Blair Waldorf for nearly her entire life. When I became more…intimately acquainted with her in high school, I realized that she is a woman who won't stop until she achieves her desires."

He gestured to her then and fixed his dark eyes on hers. She forced herself to smile when all she really wanted to do was push him down a flight of stairs. All eyes in the room were now looking at Blair to gauge her reaction. Most of them knew she had dated the billionaire playboy years ago and that she'd left the country immediately after their breakup. Now he was giving the opening toast at her engagement party to another man. She couldn't give them any more of a show than it already was.

Chuck scanned the audience as he spoke, taking note of a few pairs that were whispering to each other from the corners of their mouths. "From her pursuit of her dream college to her fierce loyalty towards those whom she loves, she has proven that she is both willful and passionate. But there is a side to Blair that some of you may be familiar with: her uncanny ability to recognize the strengths and weaknesses in other. If I found myself floundering, she always knew exactly what to say to ensure I found my way back to reality."

_I believe in you. And if this is what it takes for you to believe in you, then it's worth it._

He took a deep breath before he continued. "I stood in front of many of you at my late father's wedding, speaking about the importance of perseverance..."

_I will stand by you through anything._

"And forgiveness."

_I can't deny our path has been complicated…but in the end, love makes everything simple._

"But while both are essential to a successful relationship, I've found that there is an equally important factor involved. Because before you get to chase the girl, before you need to apologize for poor behavior, you need mutual attraction. You need…sparks."

_Nate and I have…had…plenty of spark. Better than that. Fireworks._

_That was us._

Blair's mind reeled. _Sparks_. Was this a game to him? Wasn't he aware that many of her guests knew their past and would speculate endlessly about this toast he was making? Of course he knew. Chuck Bass didn't do anything without extensive calculations. She had been away from his scheming for far too long, and underestimated the lengths he would go to in order to win what he thought was his. She could only hope that the fact that he was uninvited remained secret, that an old paramour was giving her a friendly send-off to be another man's wife.

_For the love of all that's holy_, she thought. _That sounds absurd even to me._

"Well, from what I've heard of the couple we're honoring tonight, there are plenty of sparks to sustain them indefinitely," he lied easily, sparing a bold glance at Blair. After taking quick note of her barely controlled anger, he decided it was time to wrap his speech up. Too much of a scene and she wouldn't spare a moment even to scream at him. "Ladies and gentlemen, there's just no other way to say it: Blair is perfection. Any gentleman in this room would be a better one with her by his side…but there is only one man in this room who _deserves_ her. To Blair, and to Nicolas."

He found Nicolas standing where he had left him and raised his glass. The crowd followed suit and applauded loudly. Serena looked worriedly at Chuck and wondered how long it would be before Blair had him executed.

"That _Basstard,_" Blair hissed. Her slim fingers gripped the delicate champagne flute so tightly that she was sure it would shatter, but she didn't care. She'd been right that morning: she hadn't thrown him off track. She'd only given him more incentive to pursue her.

Serena whirled back to her friend. "Blair, I'm so sorry. He said he wouldn't come tonight!"

"I knew he…_the nerve_…worthless security…assassins at the wedding...bowtie asphyxiation…"

"Blair!" Serena grabbed her by the shoulders. "Assassination plots? Don't you think you should _do_ something about Chuck instead of standing here fuming?"

The brunette's eyes cleared. "You know, I believe that's the best idea you've ever had."

She tore out of Serena's grip and was strides away before the blonde could blink. "Wait, B! You're not going to kill him, are you?"

Blair tossed a wry glance over her shoulder. "I hope you don't mind being short a brother, S!"

Serena stared after her with her mouth agape. Her mother excused herself from Rufus and walked over quickly, having had overheard some of the exchange between the two friends.

"I take it Blair isn't happy with her surprise guest," Lily noted. She took a sip of her champagne as she watched Blair stomp over to Chuck, who had completely captured the attention of the small group gathered around him. Serena glanced over just in time to see Blair dig her nails into his arm and pull him away. They walked up the stairs to the private corridor that lined the room and disappeared.

Serena turned to face her mother. "Mom, I'm worried."

"Serena, I'm sure Blair isn't _really _going to murder him-"

"No, not about that," her daughter cut in. "He's probably done something in his life to deserve a painful death anyway. I'm worried about what he's going to do to Blair and Nicolas."

Lily regarded her daughter with a kind smile. Though she admired the love her daughter and her best friend shared, the two of them overreacted frequently with regards to each other's love lives. Lily had seen more scandals in her life than anyone should. She knew when one was about to erupt, and now was not one of those times. "I know Charles and Blair have a rather…_tumultuous_ history, but I don't think he came here tonight for any reason other than to congratulate an old friend."

"I'm not so sure about that," Serena mumbled. Her mother certainly knew what her son was capable of, but she didn't know that Chuck had retained his love for Blair through the years. And if he was still in love with her best friend, then it would be safe to assume that he viewed her return to New York City as an invitation to resume pursuing her. Five years of torturous build up, an exclusive party that Blair was the guest of honor at, a huge diamond ring and Blair's total unwillingness to cause a scene? It was like a fine aged scotch for Chuck Bass: unadulterated temptation that needed to be consummated.

Serena put her hand on her mother's arm. "I'm sorry; I have to go make sure everything is okay. Excuse me, Mom." Lily nodded and turned to find her husband in the crowd, while Serena quickly contemplated her next move. She saw Nicolas speaking with a couple out of the corner of her eye and walked as quickly as she could to him.

"Excuse me," she said to the couple with a smile. "Nicolas, can I speak with you for a moment?"

The dark haired man smiled at her. "Of course. Please excuse us, and enjoy the party. Serena, is everything alright?"

She shifted nervously on her feet. She wasn't sure she was making the right choice, but she had to protect Blair from Chuck's scheming. She knew her brother's feelings had remained unchanged over the years and any love Blair felt for Chuck had disappeared long ago, but she couldn't take the chance that they were sneaking off for a quick rendezvous. Nicolas was a good man and deserved to know with whom he was dealing. It was time to protect her best friend's interests, especially if Blair was too blinded by Chuck's ruse to do so herself.

"No, everything is not alright," Serena whispered. "It's about Blair."

"Blair? Is she okay? Where is she?"

_You're doing the right thing. Blair will forgive you._ Serena heaved a sigh. "She stepped out just now. But there's something you need to know."

* * *

><p>Blair didn't release her grip on Chuck's arm until they were safely ensconced in the privacy of the ballroom's second floor hallway. To her surprise, she realized she didn't care if anyone had seen them retreat there. He'd crossed another line today and she needed to put him in his place…as if he didn't already know it.<p>

"I see you've been sharpening your claws," Chuck growled, fighting the urge to rub his arm.

"Charles," Blair said as she faced him. "What exactly are you doing here tonight? And if your response is anything other than 'trying to completely destroy you and ruin your impending nuptials', I'll know you're lying."

"Is there something you want to tell me, Blair?"

"Something I want to tell _you_?" She huffed. "As someone who crashed _my_ party, you are in no position to ask me anything. Unless it's a request to escort yourself out rather than have security do it."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Please. If you wanted to have me kicked out you would have hired better security. If I didn't know better, I'd think you _wanted_ me here."

"It's a good thing you know better," Blair regarded him with contempt and ignored the familiar stirring low in her belly. _You're just hungry,_ she chided herself. _Focus!_ He was suggesting that she had _allowed_ him to come tonight, the pretentious ass!

"By the way, congratulations on your latest successful plot. Fooling everyone into thinking you're not already married to that Frenchman out there must have been difficult," he smirked. "Even Serena doesn't know. I'm impressed."

It was all he could do to pretend that he wasn't affected by his words, that he wasn't slowly crippling himself with the thought that she was already spoken for. And adding to his torture, she was pulling him in without any encouragement at all. Her perfume permeated his skin more fiercely than it had that morning. He noticed that he was breathing more deeply in order to absorb as much as he could. The fire in her eyes made him shiver with lust. It was lucky that they could be easily discovered, or he would have pushed her against the wall and pinned her arms above her head as soon as she said his name.

Blair nearly put her hands on her hips in frustration. She was unaware of Chuck's growing lust and frustration, feeling instead like she was talking to a spoiled, jealous five year old. "What are you talking about, Bass?"

"I read the article, Blair. I know that the two of you were married six months ago in France. Why this whole charade tonight? Isn't it taking things a little far?"

Blair blinked in surprise. How had he seen an article? His PI had dug it up somehow of course, but the press had assured her that the story would never be printed. One paper had apparently been missed in the haste to cover it up and now Chuck was unaware that the ceremony had been cancelled. She considered allowing him to believe what he had read, but she couldn't resist being right.

"We're not married," she responded tightly. "The article you read was wrong."

"What?" Chuck's stomach turned over. She wasn't married yet? This was a twist in his favor. He hadn't felt guilty about his plans, but it would be far easier to win her back if she wasn't already legally bound to someone else.

"Not that it's any of your business, but it was called off," she retorted. "We decided it was a poor decision the next day, and here we are."

"Second time's a charm."

"Enough," she commanded. "You got what you came here for: your public humiliation of me was successful. I can only hope Nicolas didn't catch any of the innuendo in your speech."

Ignoring her last statement, Chuck took a step closer to her and lifted the corner of his mouth in a satisfied smirk. He couldn't hold out any longer. Technically, he wasn't crossing any lines if she wasn't married, he thought to himself. "You look ravishing in red, especially when the flush of your anger complements it so well. Excellent choice of venue as well. You do know that Harry Winston's brother-"

"Designed the chandeliers, yes," Blair interjected.

"You have the most exquisite taste, Waldorf," Chuck murmured. He reached for her hand and drew it to his lips, kissing it firmly. She snatched it away when she felt the tip of his tongue on her skin.

"I'm well aware of my own proclivities, Bass," she lifted her chin at him. "Which returns us to the issue I took you aside to discuss: you were denied an invited this evening for a reason. I can't have a pimp mingling with my distinguished guests, no matter how much of the Manhattan skyline he owns."

His eyes blackened with anger. "You went to my uncle on your own. And I told you I was sorry."

"Whether or not I went to him on my own is not the point," she spat. "It's prostitution, which you're intimately familiar with. You _sold_ me for a piece of property. Tell me, how is the Empire? Is it everything you could have wanted?"

"Is Nicolas?"

"He's more, actually," Blair responded curtly. If she thrust her nose any higher into the air, she'd be in danger of toppling backwards. Her patience had run its course; soon she would have to land a hard kick to his shin again to catch her breath. Maybe she could aim a litter higher...just to ensure he wouldn't be feeling any pleasure for a long time. "Nicolas is certainly a better man than you. _He_ would never have made such an inappropriate toast like you did."

"Stop," he said forcefully. Would all of their conversations be like this from now on? She was quickly becoming as venomous as she had been that morning. And though he was expecting her responses to his actions, he wasn't expecting how angry it made him to hear her verbally denounce him. "Why are you so bitter?"

Blair stared him down, once again willing spontaneous combustion. "I am _not_ bitter," she enunciated condescendingly. "You traded me- your girlfriend!- for a hotel. I forgave you and you thanked me by sleeping with-" she struggled to say her name, "_Jenny_. What did you expect to happen? A tearful absolution followed by an elopement?"

"I didn't expect you to leave," he said softly.

She didn't miss a beat. "Well, I learned from the best: you run when everything crashes down around you. At least I didn't come back so high on opium and God knows what else that I wouldn't be able to pass a drug test for a year."

He gave her a small smile. "No, you came back as a fearsome foreign queen."

"I know what you're doing here tonight, Bass," she continued, her voice escalating quickly. "But I don't want you anywhere near myself or Nicolas. I thought I made it explicit to Serena that under no circumstances would you-"

"Ah, Dorota!" Chuck interrupted suddenly, spreading a genuine, albeit impatient, smile across his face. Blair hadn't seen her approaching. The maid's eyes grew wide in fear as Blair turned and shot her a warning look. "It's wonderful to see you again."

"Good evening, Mr. Chuck," Dorota replied, smiling nervously. It was never a good thing to be caught in the middle of a war between the dark haired pair before her, but she was trapped. "I was just looking for bathroom, but it must be somewhere else."

Chuck smiled at her unease. Catching a familiar sparkle, he gestured to the adornments on her ears. "Your earrings are absolutely radiant. Tiffany?"

Blair smiled triumphantly and interjected. "Actually, they're Cartier. I gave them to her before we left; she needed some _small_ jewels to help draw all the attention to her gown."

"Cartier?"

"Yes, I believe they were a gift from someone. I can't seem to remember who…"

Chuck's nostrils flared. "_Blair."_

"That will be all Dorota," Blair lifted her hand in dismissal. "Please go try some of the pear canapés that were brought out a few minutes ago, they're delightful." When she had excused herself and shuffled out of sight down the stairs, Blair turned back to Chuck to see him barely containing his rage.

"Blair," he repeated. "I'll look past that slight because you gave them to Dorota and not some urchin on the street, but-"

"Oh, what a marvelous idea!" Blair exclaimed, turning to seek out her maid. "Dorota!"

Chuck grabbed her shoulders and spun her back to face him. "In the future," he said through clenched teeth. "I expect my gifts to be worn and enjoyed only by _you_."

His face was inches from hers. His sudden proximity worried her, since they were not in a particularly private location of the ballroom. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"I chose Nicolas, not you," she said in a deadly even tone, voice full of mocked pity. "You may be a billionaire playboy who is used to getting everything he wants, but you won't this time. I don't want you anymore. And after your performance tonight, I can't see why anyone else would."

Chuck's jaw tensed. She had managed to throw his words back at him from years ago, when he had deliberately wounded her at her lowest point. He wanted to spew a hurtful retort, wanted to remind her that he had branded her as _his_ forever when he took her virginity in his limo. But the words wouldn't come, and he hated himself for being weak. Blair's eyes were brimming with an emotion he couldn't place. She waited a beat, urging him to fight back.

He reached up to touch her cheek lightly. "Blair, I came here tonight because I thought you were married, and I couldn't stand it. Now that I know you're not…well, I'm still going to say the same thing. I can't let you leave here tonight without knowing the truth."

Blair's eyes softened. He was doing it again, weaving a spell with words and fixating those deep brown eyes on hers so intently that she couldn't move. She wanted to do something to make him stop, to get him to shut up before he said something that made her feel traitorous. She wanted to, but she didn't. She realized that even though she had moved on, a quiet thought had been festering in her mind for the last five years: if Chuck did come to fight for her, would she let him?

He was too close and she couldn't think clearly. She should turn and run, pretend she heard her mother calling for her, something. The moment was too sudden for her to answer her own question. Would she let him? When had her thoughts become so dangerous?

"The truth?" She whispered, desperately grasping at the passing moments to gather her thoughts.

Chuck's mouth opened as if to speak, but all that came were ragged breaths. She was so beautiful when she was frightened and unable to lash out at him. He knew he had to stop, knew that if he let himself go another second, he would take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. Chuck tilted his head down to parallel Blair's upturned face, and she swore she heard the music from the ballroom swell in time with her heartbeat.

_You said you'd be a gentleman_, he reminded himself. _Gentleman, gentleman. _But he could feel her heat attacking him and his lust responding loudly. They were in a secluded area of the venue. It was unlikely that anyone would stumble upon them in a compromising position there- save Dorota, who had always had a nasty habit of interrupting Chuck's lewd designs.

_The hell with it_, he decided. He stepped even closer to Blair, who had already retreated so far that her back was crushing against the wall. His fingers were still stroking her cheek, so he put his free hand against the wall above her head. He thought heard her whimper in anticipation, or maybe it was a half-hearted plea to make him stop that died on her lips. If he could only take his eyes off of her mouth, he could cover it with his.

Suddenly there was a flurry of motion, a rustling of clothing, and the sound of a body being slammed against the wall next to Blair. Chuck grunted in surprise but didn't struggle, despite the strong hands tightening against his throat.

"Bass," Nicolas' snarled.

"Well, it's a pleasure seeing you again so soon," Chuck smirked.

"Nicolas!" Blair cried.

"Let me deal with him, Blair," her fiancé responded through gritted teeth. "Old schoolmate? I should have listened to my instincts. After all, Chuck Bass has as much of a reputation in France as he does here." He stared intently at Chuck, who observed with a chuckle that he'd adopted Blair's famous murderous glare. Of course, no one could ever deliver them with quite as much ferocity as her.

Serena appeared behind Nicolas and walked straight to her friend, who had stumbled aside in the tussle. "Blair, are you okay?"

"S, how did you-?" her friend responded in surprise. She heard Chuck starting to struggle against his captor's grip. "Never mind. We'll talk later."

"I'm not going to make any assumptions about what I just saw," Nicolas hissed. "But I'm sure I _can_ assume that you won't find yourself alone in the presence of my fiancée again." He let his unspoken threat hang in the air; he was fuming and Blair couldn't blame him. She was quickly becoming just as upset with Chuck for remembering what buttons to push to elicit her passions. She wanted to feel ashamed for her body's reflexive response to him, but the only thing she felt guilty for was not telling Nicolas certain tidbits about her past, particularly the identity of the man who broke her heart.

Blair closed the distance between them and put a hand on his arm. "Nicolas, let him go," she pleaded. He tore his eyes away from Chuck's to see her nodding reassuringly. "I know what this looks like. Let go, and I'll tell you everything. Please."

After a long pause, Nicolas sighed. He loosened his grip on Chuck and took a step back, placed a protective arm around Blair's shoulders and drew her to him.

"Thank you," she whispered into his chest. "Let's go back to the party. Come on, Serena."

He looked to Blair to read her expression- was she surprised at her fiancé's arrival? Disappointed? Happy?- but she wasn't looking at him anymore. She hadn't even spared a fleeting glance his way since Nicolas had grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall. It seemed instantaneous, how quickly the heat he'd felt radiating from her had cooled. With a thud he was certain was audible, his heart fell: her body may never stop responding to him, but her heart truly belonged to someone else for the first time since him.

Before turning, his sister shook her head at him. Her loose golden hair swayed with the motion. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Chuck knew by her apology that she'd seen Blair drag him upstairs and had assumed the worst. He was Chuck Bass, after all- who wouldn't? He didn't blame her for it, but he wished she had been a little slower. Or that she had thought to confront him after the party.

The trio turned from him and walked away, towards the stairs and back to the ballroom. Neither of the girls spared a glance back, but Nicolas turned before he took a step down and shot a final warning look at his new adversary. Chuck responded with a cold smile.

Blair didn't stop walking until she reached a waiter carrying glasses of champagne. She snatched one from his tray and took a large swallow. By the time the bubbles had dissolved in her throat, she had convinced herself that the stinging in her eyes was from anger.

* * *

><p><em>So much for being on good behavior<em>, Chuck thought as he rubbed his throat. But he'd never stood a chance- as soon as the couple entered the ballroom and he saw the familiar post-coital flush upon Blair's cheeks, all reason fled. He immediately made his way to the woman he had overheard introduced as Nicolas' mother Jocelyne and her husband. Once he turned the Bass charm up, she would be putty in his hands and he could garner an invitation to speak to Nicolas.

She introduced him within minutes as a potential colleague for Nicolas' future endeavors in the States. Though Chuck was mildly surprised to hear that the couple would now be living full-time in New York City and not Paris, he didn't show it. The two spoke briefly about business and then the upcoming wedding, at which point Chuck had informed the dark haired man that he was an old schoolmate of Blair's. Chuck politely declined when Nicolas offered to find his fiancée so that they could catch up, suggesting instead that he'd rather surprise her by giving the first toast of the night. His companion agreed, and Chuck made his way to the highest tier to deliver his surprise.

Chuck had gathered from his PI's information and his brief observation of the couple that Blair was in love with her fiancé, but it was more than that. She seemed _enraptured_ by him. But no matter what she shared with the man she'd met in Paris, she and Chuck transcended logic and reality. If time hadn't made her realize it, then he had to do something else that would.

After his efforts to speak earnestly to Blair were thwarted by Nicolas and Serena, he walked deliberately towards the entrance at the foyer. He was unwilling to wait for the inevitable, since Blair or Nicolas had most likely already called security to escort him out. The guard stationed at the elevator looked at him in surprise and hastily checked his clipboard of guest names. "Mis- Mr. Bass," he stammered. "You're not on the list, sir. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Instead of flinging a snide remark at the man, Chuck nodded tightly at the man and strode into the open elevator.

"Have a pleasant evening, sir," he heard as the doors closed quietly. There would be hell to pay tomorrow. But as for tonight, a small victory had been won. She was probably wishing he'd meet with a painful accident on his way home, but he didn't care: he would be on Blair's mind for days. His behavior practically guaranteed she would join him at lunch the next day as his note requested. She would come only to berate him properly, but he would take the opportunity to explain why he had stayed away from her for so long. With a little bit of luck, there wouldn't be any interruptions this time.

* * *

><p>The rest of the party went smoothly, other than the occasional nosy socialite who inquired about the nature of Chuck Bass' speech. The consensus was that although the toast was a bit too personal for the occasion, it was far more exciting than the rest of the speeches given. Rather mundane and rehearsed, they where.<p>

_At least the gossipers are happy,_ Blair thought. She, on the other hand, had a long night of explaining to look forward to.

When the hour was late and their guests had gushed over the wonderful party and bade them good night, the couple climbed into their limo and rode in exhausted silence back to the Waldorf penthouse. There was unease between them and though both knew the cause, neither wished to broach the subject just yet. Once they had arrived safely home, both showered and prepared for bed. Nicolas leaned against the door frame of her closet as Blair slipped on her negligee and studied her. It was a habit of his to watch her fuss over her appearance even if she was going straight to bed. With a smile, he realized he'd be doing it every night for the rest of his life.

"Blair," he finally said. "Tell me about Bass. What's the history there?"

His fiancée sighed as she tugged her silk shoulder strap into place, then turned to look at him. "I'm so sorry about tonight," she said softly. "I honestly didn't think he would show. I assumed enough time had passed, and that he would have forgotten about me." She left out the part about their encounter on the street that morning, knowing it would just hurt Nicolas further. Nothing had happened, so she didn't feel the need to reveal it.

Nicolas nodded. "I'm sure that's what you hoped, _chère_. But he doesn't seem like a man who does something without meticulous planning. _Mon Dieu_, he _owns_ Bass Industries! Tell me, Blair. Tell me what happened between you so that I know what I'm facing here."

"Tea first," she said quietly. Blair couldn't stand to see the sadness in his eyes. He was clutching the damp towel in his hands as if reality would slip away should he drop it. She walked to him and peeled his fingers away, letting it fall to the floor. When she nodded encouragingly, he let her guide him downstairs to the kitchen.

"Chuck wasn't lying, we've known each other since we were children," she explained, pouring the warm liquid into a small cup in Nicolas' hands once they had been seated. "I was dating his best friend, Nate-"

"Nate. I met him this evening," he interjected.

Blair smiled. "Yes," she said before sipping her drink. "Nate and I were together from the time we were small children until we were 16. After we broke up, Chuck and I got involved. We played games with each other for a long time. When Chuck's father died and left him Bass Industries, a lot of pressure was put on him; his family, his own blood, hated him and wanted him gone. We dated for about a year, but after some…_incidents_, we broke up. That was when I moved to France. The rest you know."

"When you told me you left France to escape your lover, and I quote: 'a wealthy playboy from Manhattan', I never guessed it was Chuck Bass."

"And why would you?" She responded dryly, recalling the past. "Like you said earlier tonight, his name doesn't exactly call to mind the words 'relationship' or 'monogamy'."

Nicolas chuckled softly, then lowered his gaze to the porcelain cup in his hands. He didn't want to hear her response to the question he needed to ask, even if he knew the answer. Taking a deep breath, he said, "And you were in love?"

"Yes," Blair whispered, suddenly aware of a feeling akin to anxiety. She feared it would never go away: the dull ache in her stomach that clutched at her when she heard his name, remembered their time together, or felt his eyes on her. Why did he have to be travelling on the same street as her that morning? She and Nicolas would likely be lost in each other's arms right now had Chuck Bass never crossed her path.

"We were in love," she continued, choosing her words carefully. "But in the end he did things that were unforgiveable. Things no man in love would do. So I left him."

"What was tonight about?"

"Tonight," she exhaled, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Was typical Bass behavior. He's very protective, and since he hadn't met you before, he was making sure you were up to par. Chuck just…goes about it in a very backwards way. Though I must say, he probably deserved the chokehold."

Nicolas grinned at her, but the smile died quickly. "And…and you're over him?" He asked cautiously.

Blair's eyes softened and she felt the all-too familiar sting of tears. She took his face in her hands and pressed a tender kiss on his lips, pulling away slightly to look into his beautiful green eyes. "_You_ are the only man I love."

A smile tugged at his mouth. He closed the distance between them and pulled her in for a passionate kiss, one that told her all suspicions had been thrown away for the time being. She responded eagerly, relishing in the utter perfection of the man she had discovered when she hadn't even been looking.

But Blair suddenly recalled a memory from when she was nine years old. Her mother had said something so horrible to her that she'd locked herself in the bathroom for hours, alternating between screaming and sobbing in anger. She spied a bottle of Dior's new perfume J'adore that her mother had brought from Paris, and had thrown it against the wall with a strangled cry. Feeling both triumphant and a little scared at her violence, she silently watched the sticky liquid drip onto the floor and around the pieces of broken glass.

Even though Dorota had thoroughly cleaned up the mess she'd made, to this day she could press herself against the wall and smell faint notes of orchid. The results of her emotional outburst as a child would almost certainly never go away.

With a start, she realized a debilitating fact: Chuck Bass was her adulthood's J'adore…a choice that she would never completely forget, one that would always be a sweet-smelling stain in the back of her mind.

* * *

><p><em>I'm very open to comments, suggestions and constructive criticisms. If you think something is missing or could be improved upon, please don't hesitate to let me know! Also, I think it's time for a beta. I'm invested in this story now, and it deserves more than just my attentions.<em>

_Another huge thank you to my faithful reviewers, who have put up with my exploration of Blair's relationship with an entirely new character: QueenBee10, batgirl2992, LeftWriter224, Maribells, Michelle (since I couldn't respond to your review, thank you doubly! I won't let you down.), flipped, TriGemini, finnlover, and Maryam25. You keep me writing when inspiration refuses to strike._

_To my readers, I hope you're still with me._


	5. Unfaithful

_She was pressed against the wall, his arms on either side of her shoulders, holding her prisoner. Her name slid from his lips like a whispered prayer. "Blair," he said, leaning close enough that she could feel his warm breath tickling her ear._

"_Chuck," Blair sneered, pushing him away from her. "Lurking by the women's restroom again? Not surprising–"_

_She didn't finish her sentence before his strong hands grabbed her by her arms and pulled her backwards through a door. Her protestations came out as a squeak; he had surprised her. The moment the door closed behind them, he released her and turned the bolt on the door, locking them in the ladies' lounge. _

_Finally she found her voice. "What the hell, Bass?"_

_When he pivoted to face her, she saw unadulterated lust in his eyes. His intensity frightened her...and made her heart hammer in her chest. Shamefully, she recognized the familiar tightening low in her belly, felt her legs quivering beneath her dress, and heard her breath catch. His eyes glinted devilishly as if he could sense the forces building inside her…then he slammed his lips against hers._

No! _Blair thought immediately. But she felt his fingers weaving through her hair, pulling at the pins holding the curls away from her face. His other hand wrapped around to the small of her back, savagely pulling her flush against his body. When she felt his desire pressing against her stomach, voracious lust spread like a flash flood through her body__, and she just couldn't fight against it—not when he had his lips on her. _

_She opened her mouth to invite his tongue in, which he complied with eagerly. Her hands flew to his hair, tugging on it roughly. He groaned in appreciation, letting his hands continue to run over every inch of exposed skin. In a moment of wild abandon, Blair wished he would just tear her dress away so that she could feel his hands gliding across her naked body._

_Chuck's forceful kiss had propelled them backwards, pushing her against a wall. He splayed a hand against it for leverage while Blair's fingers continued to grasp wildly at his neck and hair. As his lips released hers and she drew a much-needed breath, he blazed a path to her delicate neck. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure and she dug her nails into his scalp._

_He moaned at the sharp pressure on the sensitive area and began suckling on the tender spot below her ear, ensuring she would remain marked for days to come. She cried out; any shame she may have felt had evaporated and was replaced by animalistic desire. He reached down to pull her thigh up, hitching it around his hip, pressing his fingers into her flesh. With practiced motions, he ground his hips against her until she tugged at his suit, pushing it off his shoulders and down his arms._

_Blair couldn't think of anything other than the heat, the urge, and the exquisite friction he was creating between them. She felt herself close to breaking and nearly begging for release. She knew that he was just as aroused as she was; the evidence was rocking against her core faster and harder as each moment passed. _

_There was no warning–one second her dress was a barrier between them, the next it was ripped in half and lying haphazardly on the lounge floor. For a split second she wondered what she would wear to leave the establishment, but the thought was tossed aside when she saw Chuck eye her lingerie hungrily and groan. His hands were on her then, dragging her against him._

_They both panted heavily. Blair couldn't speak, knowing that if she did, the only acceptable phrases could be No, we have to stop or This is a mistake_.

_She tilted her head to the side to give him better access to her neck. As his tongue trailed down her neck to her collarbone, his free hand snaked down her hip to drag his fingers up her leg. She arched into him, well aware that it drove him crazy, and he snapped._

_He grabbed her thigh and pulled her legs wider apart. His skilled fingers moved her panties aside and pushed deep inside her. She cried out at the suddenness of the feeling–the way his fingers filled her–and reached up to throw her arm around his neck. It urged him forward and gave him permission to grind against her, to show her just how desperate his need for her was._

_She felt her orgasm building within moments. A tingling sensation rushed from her head down to her toes and back up again. She felt hot despite not wearing any clothes; every nerve ending in her body seemed thoroughly focused on his movements. Chuck noticed the telling signs of her impending release and added another finger to his ministrations. Blair's hand flew to his arm that was granting her such delicious pleasure and curled her fingers around his wrist, a silent plea for him not to stop._

_She reached for her release desperately, wishing the pleasure would go on forever but also desiring the shattering orgasm that was building in her. She could almost see stars; her climax was moments away…_

_And then there was blackness._

Startled, Blair's eyes flew open. She was breathing heavily, a thin sheen of sweat coated her body and her hair was sticking to the back of her neck. Her fingers reached up to touch her lips.

It was the morning after her engagement party. And she had just had a…sinful, all-too-real sex dream about _Chuck Bass_. She drew her eyebrows together in disgust. He must have triggered some memory last night for her to dream about such an encounter with him. There was no other reason for it.

She felt her fiancé stir in bed next to her, moving onto his back so that his thigh pressed against hers, and she blushed at how quickly her body responded. With a flush of embarrassment she realized that her dream had left her in severe need of release.

As smoothly as she could, she slid off her bed and tip-toed quietly to her bathroom. A flushed face stared back at her in the mirror. With a frown she snatched her toothbrush and attempted to focus on anything other than the lust her dream inspired.

"That _Basstard_," she hissed under her breath. Would she never be free from him?

There was no way she could make it through the day without addressing her needs. She felt a pang of guilt about her unconscious fantasizing, but she was terribly aroused.

She climbed back into bed to lay down facing her fiancé. "Nicolas," she whispered, delicately tracing the curve of his neck and shoulder with her fingertips.

"Blair?" He mumbled sleepily. "What…is it time for breakfast?"

"That depends on how you define breakfast." She grinned wickedly, feeling her pulse quicken and the warmth between her thighs spread at her words. He turned his head in her direction and opened his eyes, processing her innuendo quickly. He propped himself up on one arm and she ran her hand down his bare chest.

She raised an eyebrow seductively. "Are you up for it?"

"How did I get so lucky?" Nicolas responded with a smile, throwing the covers up and moving on top of her. He quickly settled between her legs and rested his weight on his arms. When she lifted up to capture his bottom lip between her teeth, he reached between their bodies until her found her center and entered her with two fingers. His eyes widened in surprise. "Blair…you're so wet!"

She moaned loudly in response and let her mouth fall open as she focused on Nicolas' touch.

When he replaced his fingers with his tongue, her eyes rolled back and cried out. He teased her until she felt her body shaking with pleasure. She was at the edge of her orgasm, just a few more moments and she'd shatter. She closed her eyes as her body tightened and her muscles contracted. Her hips lifted off the bed and she felt the hum of her fiancé moaning into her…then a familiar smirk appeared in her mind.

_Chuck._

Her eyes flew open at the vision of him. She grasped the sheets at her sides, riding out her orgasm with a cry, unable to shake Chuck's face from her mind. The picture of him remained clear even after she regained her senses.

_Oh my God, _she thought frantically. _Stop thinking about him immediately! Your fiancé's fingers are still inside you! _

Nicolas began trailing kisses over her hips and across her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and covered them with her hands, trying desperately not to imagine how it would feel if she replaced her fiancé's lips and fingers with Chuck's.

But the more intensely she concentrated, the more Chuck invaded her thoughts and unnerved her.

"Nicolas!" she exclaimed suddenly, throwing her arms down to her sides. "Please, I can't handle any more right now. I'm…too sensitive."

He placed a tender kiss on the underside of one of her breasts, ignorant of the serious tone in her voice. "Sensitive?" he murmured. "I can be gentle."

Blair's forehead crinkled in frustration as he continued kissing her skin. "No," she said firmly, fingers grasping the sheets in agitation. "No more."

Nicolas froze at her tone and looked up at her in confusion. "But you were so…excited a moment ago. Is everything alright?"

"Yes," she snapped, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "_Ugh_, I mean no. I just…have a lot to do today, that's all. I don't have time to roll around in bed for hours. There are some things we've been neglecting that I have to take care of today."

Nicolas blinked slowly. "You don't have time…?" he repeated incredulously. He spit a curse under his breath and quickly maneuvered himself off of the bed. He immediately began pacing across her bedroom floor with a scowl.

"We've been in New York for barely 24 hours, Blair," he pointed out, gesturing animatedly with his hands. "I'm confused–what could we have possibly been _neglecting_? You've got the wedding plans under control, you don't start at _Elle_ for at least a week, and I'm in no rush to go scouring the city for up-and-coming designer brands. What could possibly be so pressing that you can't spend another hour in bed?"

_The fact that Chuck Bass won't leave me alone–even in my own mind–and I need to fix that._

Nicolas stopped pacing and faced her, spreading his arms expectantly. "Well?" he demanded.

The lie came to her easily. "Serena and I are meeting to go over her maid of honor dress," she said curtly. "And I have to meet with the interior designer about the furnishings for our apartment. Is that acceptable, or should I reschedule for a more convenient time?"

Nicolas regarded her silently. His bright green eyes were blazing, his lips pressed together tightly in anger and frustration.

"No," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's fine. I'll just leave you to prepare for your…_busy_ _day_."

Then he turned on his heel and left her room, shutting the door with a loud _bang_ behind him. Blair took a few deep breaths to calm her racing heartbeat. Nicolas was upset, but he'd calm down after a few hours. She'd make sure she apologized to him for her rudeness later, once she could think clearly again.

In other words, once Chuck had been pushed from her mind.

She slid off the bed and went straight downstairs. A large platter of fresh fruit was waiting for her on the long dining room table. As she sat and ate, she let herself be drawn into the memories of her childhood home–chic sleepovers, takedowns, and her drunken best friend skipping on the marble floors. Being with someone who hadn't grown up with her made everything in her familiar surroundings new again. With a contented sigh, she bit into a strawberry and delighted in its sweet juices.

Her cell phone buzzed, bringing her out of her reverie. She frowned when she saw a text message from _him_, informing her that he was still expecting her presence at lunch. Instantly her mood blackened.

She still hadn't decided whether to go to lunch with Chuck or not. Instinct told her that it would only cause problems, but if she didn't go, how would he retaliate? She shuddered to think of the consequences of standing him up. Yes, _going_ to lunch seemed like a far better option than _not_ going.

Suddenly, a thought struck her. She knew how she could get the upper hand over Chuck _and_ ensure that he would drop his foolish pursuit of her. With a conspiratorial glint in her eye, she hurried upstairs to dress for a lunch that she suddenly couldn't wait to attend.

An hour later, Blair looked out the window of her town car with trepidation. She remembered the establishment well, but it seemed…darker somehow. Sinister. Chuck Bass had once again chosen his location well, despite having no knowledge of the reason it looked so ominous to her: the restaurant housed the ladies' lounge from her dream.

The privacy of the town car allowed her a moment to close her eyes in ecstasy at the memory, but she had to push it from her mind before she went inside. Daydreaming about her imaginary tryst with Chuck was maddening. She had to show Chuck that she was serious: he wasn't allowed to participate in her life anymore. Luckily, she had prepared herself for battle this time. Today, he would know how it felt to be humiliated.

* * *

><p>Chuck kept the partition down on the way to his destination, making it impossible for Arthur, his lifelong chauffeur, to stay in the dark about his employer's private affairs. With a sigh, he restrained himself from rolling up the partition. He didn't <em>want<em> to know what scheme was brewing now; a simple destination or itinerary would satisfy.

Plus, the things he heard drop from young Mr. Bass' lips made him blush.

"Nathaniel," he heard Chuck drawl. "How are things with your mother and Serena going?"

Arthur smiled to himself as he turned onto Madison Avenue and tuned out the relatively tame conversation behind him. Since he met the sandy haired boy, he had always been impressed with the manner in which he handled Mr. Bass. Certainly, the troubled son of the late Bart Bass was difficult, but Mr. Archibald was patient, kind and without an agenda. He was relieved the phone call was a social one; blatant come-ons or thinly veiled innuendo would have turned his stomach. But when the name _Blair_ was spoken with more enthusiasm than he'd heard in awhile, he realized that something was afoot. Arthur pulled the limo up in front of the restaurant and hurried to open the door and await Mr. Bass' directions.

"Make sure you're close by," Chuck instructed him as he exited his limo. "I'm not sure when we'll be done."

"Yes, Mr. Bass," Arthur replied. He wondered at the young man's light step and airy tone. If the meeting was with the woman he suspected, it would behoove the young man to adopt a much more cautious attitude. He didn't know the reason for the breakup between Mr. Bass and Miss Waldorf, but knew enough about his employer to guess at who was in the wrong. He had a bad feeling that lunch would not go as well as Mr. Bass hoped.

* * *

><p>"Miss Waldorf is already seated."<p>

The hostess obviously recognized him; her eyes raked across his form shamelessly. Chuck ignored her and walked straight to the dining area, where Blair was facing away from him. Her chestnut curls and brightly colored dress stood out among the other patrons, making her easy to spot. He took a moment to marvel at her beauty; she was even lovelier today than she was yesterday. He'd have to remember to tell her that…after she finished tearing him apart about his behavior the night before, of course.

"Waldorf," he said lightly. She bristled when he leaned down to press a kiss on her cheek. He was satisfied that he managed to get so close to her lips without a well-deserved slap.

She rolled her eyes at his boldness. "Bass."

"I'm glad you came." He smirked confidently. "But after our…conversation last night, I'm not surprised. A secret rendezvous at a black tie event always did bring out the vixen in you."

She had been expecting a similar greeting–anything else would have surprised her–and as such, she had resolved not to fall into their normal pattern of snide comments and insults. That behavior would only serve to encourage him.

"Yes, I'm here." Her voice remained firm. "But I don't think you'll like what I have to say."

"Good afternoon," a voice interrupted. Their server had approached the table quietly, though neither would have noticed if the windows had spontaneously shattered. The connection between them had always been that way: intense, all-consuming, blinding.

"My name is Christof. May I take your drink order?"

"Scotch, neat."

"Gin martini."

Blair didn't let the interruption shake her train of thought; her nerve would have failed her if she had been made to start over. "After your performance last night, it's apparent that you still haven't grown up. Your behavior rivaled the night you tried to ruin my Cotillion. All this time and you're still just as destructive as you were when I left!"

Chuck leaned forward in his seat. "Blair," he said softly. "I never intended to destroy you or your party. Why can't you understand? I just had to…_Christ_, I thought you were married."

"And so your first instinct was to crash a party you weren't invited to? Steal the spotlight and make _very_ thinly veiled insinuations about our past together? And then make a pass at me? All of your actions were classic Chuck Bass behavior, condensed into…less than 12 hours, was it? But wait!" she exclaimed, smiling derisively, "You didn't show up obliterated. Are you losing your touch?"

His voice had a hard edge to it. "All I wanted was to see you last night."

"But you _weren't_ invited," Blair cried with a blaze in her eyes. "And you humiliated me!"

Chuck's eyes darkened. She didn't have any idea how ferocious his thoughts had been. If she did, she'd be thanking him for his rather tame speech instead of attacking him. But her accusation that _he_ humiliated _her?_ If only she could have seen herself through his eyes as she glided into the ballroom with a painfully obvious post-sex glow, she would realize who had been humiliated.

His jaw tightened automatically as he recalled the flush on her cheeks and the swell of her breasts. How could that French nobody have managed to satisfy Blair so completely? He couldn't possibly know every one of the secret places on her body where she loved to be stroked…the hidden meaning behind of each of her singular moans…the way her body tightened right before she found her release.

He suddenly found a shift in his chair necessary to ease his discomfort. Even her irritation managed to get him hard.

"No one but you understood the meaning behind anything I said," he replied, his voice becoming smooth and dangerous. "I knew the only way to get your attention was to make you angry, but I'd forgotten how much I always enjoyed that look in your eyes…the way they burn when you're insulted. And how…horny it makes you."

Blair shivered in her seat, vividly recalling her dream. _His free hand snaked down her hip to drag his fingers up her leg, and she arched into him…_

"I wanted to experience that again. Nothing gets your blood going quite like a takedown. Or even better, an argument."

"Chuck," Blair breathed. "Stop." _Shit, that was supposed to be venomous, not pleading!_

"No," he insisted with a small smile.

"Chuck, I–"

"I'm trying to make things up to you," he whispered.

_I know I can't take it back, but I'm going to try to make it up to you._

Strobe-like flashes tainted her vision. Black mascara streaks, Chuck on the ground, Dan Humphrey shaking with rage. Her mind reeled at the onslaught of memories of Chuck committing the ultimate betrayal.

_I thought you didn't love me anymore. I didn't care if I lived or died! Jenny Humphrey was– _

_Don't say her name! Or anything else to me ever again. This whole night didn't happen_.

With a simple sentence, he had turned back time to one of the most painful moments of her life.

Everything tightened around her and her resolve began to crack. No, she wouldn't cry. Tears were better shed in the privacy of her room or en route in the town car. Chuck Bass had no business knowing that he still had the capability to wound her.

She gathered herself quickly enough to slip on her society face, a mask that she had been forced to create as the Queen of the Upper East Side. After all, a good defense was the best offense.

She straightened in her chair, the desire that he had awoken in her completely eradicated. "There is no need to atone for any of your actions, Chuck. I moved on a long time ago and the pain you caused me no longer affects me. In fact, that's why I came here today."

Her jaw clenched in determination. He had brought up the past without intending to and she should be able to make it through this without any problem. So why did it feel like she was ripping an organ from her body?

She stood up stiffly, knowing that she would need to flee once she was done speaking.

Her voice was cold and hard. "You have no place in my life anymore. You're not a friend or even a casual acquaintance from this moment on." She picked up a bag next to her chair and reached into it, pulling something out and setting it on the table with a _thunk. _"This is goodbye."

Chuck stared dumbfounded at her. "Blair, what are you–"

Before he could finish his sentence, she turned and walked quickly to the restaurant's exit. With every intention of following her, he put his hand on the table as he stood and touched the hard corner of an object. He glanced down instinctually, momentarily distracted from his pursuit.

A small red box sat on the table next to his untouched scotch. Gingerly he picked it up and opened it, exposing the Cartier earrings Dorota had been wearing at Blair's engagement party…the same earrings he had sent to Blair the day before. His lips parted in shock as he registered a second box that lay under it. The rich black coloring had blended in somewhat with the table and he had overlooked it completely. Instantly he wished he hadn't noticed its presence.

Instinct told him to ignore what he knew was inside and run after Blair, but he couldn't. He had to see it with his own eyes, for it was the physical proof of his first experience with _feelings_. Feelings that he hadn't even begun to process, that went against his nature; feelings that upset both his and Blair's expectations for their futures.

_Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty._

With a flick of his wrist, the lid of the box fell open. There it was: Blair's seventeenth birthday present. The emotion that Chuck couldn't express at that time, enshrined in diamonds in platinum settings, mocking him. The Erickson Beamon necklace.

He had always thought that the cliché "seeing red" was nonsense. But when his fingers touched the delicate necklace nestled in the soft lining of the box, he had to struggle to remain calm.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. His chest heaved with every strangled breath he took.

She had clearly believed that by giving back the necklace and earrings, he would see how serious she was about ridding herself of him. Again, she underestimated his feelings for her.

Now that she was back…now that he had seen her face in person and not just in papers or magazines, he understood how empty his life had been since she'd left. His day-to-day hadn't changed much: he was still rather fond of having one more scotch than was considered seemly and he consistently went to extreme lengths to broker business deals, but he was now painfully aware of how utterly empty the last five years had been without the reason for his existence.

The pain of losing her…that was something he wasn't prepared to experience again. He didn't want to return to the monotony of the last five years, not after she had reminded him how bright life was with her in it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and for a wild second he hoped it was Blair. _Matthew._ He was still having Blair followed–perhaps he'd discovered more information.

"What is it?" He spit into the receiver. "Yes, I know Blair just–she's _walking_ down Madison? Right now? Alright. Thank you."

He dropped a couple of bills on the table for the drinks that neither of them had touched and gathered the jewelry boxes. On his way to the door he summoned Arthur, who had been idling nearby.

"Arthur," he snarled as he threw himself into his limo. "Back onto Madison, slowly enough that I can spot Blair."

His search didn't take long. Again, her perfect curls stood out among the throng of people on the street. Arthur pulled to the curb and Chuck was out before it came to a stop, hastily buttoning his suit.

"Blair!" Chuck thundered as he pushed through a group of people in his way. To his chagrin, he realized that he was nearly jogging. This is what the object of his affections had done to him…he would be sweating through a $3,000 suit in seconds if she continued her quick pace. "Blair, stop!"

She threw a startled glance over her shoulder. "How did you–are you having me _followed_ again? Leave me alone, Chuck!" She knit her eyebrows together in fury and continued her brisk pace, her eyes searching the street for an open cab that she could dart into.

"Just give me a chance." He was almost close enough to reach her; already he could smell her perfume wafting behind her. "I need to tell you the truth about why I asked you to lunch."

She spun around quickly, nearly knocking him over with the force of her anger.

"Truth?" Her voice was shrill. A few pedestrians looked startled but continued walking. "What makes you think I want to listen? What could you _possibly_ have to say to me that would change the way I feel about you?"

"And how do you feel about me?" he asked carefully.

"I _hate_ you."

She had said those words to him many times before of course, but never with such malice. Usually it masked some emotion she had forbidden herself to feel. But this time…either Blair Waldorf had become a master thespian in the last few years or she truly despised him.

"And you didn't _ask_ me to lunch, you _demanded_ it, in that 'I'm Chuck Bass' way of yours–the same self-serving and completely deluded thinking that leads you to believe you can just materialize in front of me whenever you want…as if I somehow owe you my friendship. I meant what I said yesterday: no one could ever love you. Not even me, not after what you did."

She looked at him with cold eyes for a beat, daring him to try to explain himself.

"Why can't you just leave me alone, and be happy for me?"

He took a step towards her, his apologies lost once he heard her last statement. "I _am_ happy for you," he insisted. "I'm happy that you have a career that you love. I'm happy that you're finally back. But I can never be happy that you're marrying someone other than me."

As the words fell from his lips, Blair felt her heart sinking. She was in love with Nicolas, an incredibly perfect man, and he loved her the same way. There were no games, no deceit, no secrets between them. He would never intentionally hurt her or test the strength of their bond. Their love was her anchor.

Chuck may have been the love of her life years ago, but now he was a threat to her relationship with Nicolas. Removing him from her life was a necessity. When she gave back the Erickson Beamon necklace- the only remaining token of his love for her- she had expected him to be so angry that he'd never speak to her again. She didn't expect him to _chase after her_.

How would she rid herself of him now?

Did she really want to?

"Please," she begged. _Don't make me do this. _A traitorous tear leaked, then another.

"For five years I've wondered if our spark would fade," Chuck murmured, delicately wiping the tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "It hasn't. You can't deny the pull between us. It wasn't by chance that I saw you for the first time in five years yesterday…on a busy street in Manhattan…the very morning you arrived from Paris. That wasn't happenstance, it was _fate_. We're inevitable, Blair."

She closed her eyes slowly. How could a person feel so many conflicting emotions and still breathe? She wanted to slap him, scream at him for abandoning her, turn and run to Nicolas…

And yet, she acknowledged with surprise, she desperately wanted to kiss him.

"I love you," Chuck whispered, his eyes shining with the proof of his words.

Her mouth opened slightly in shock at his declaration. Quickly, she caught herself and shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Chuck. It doesn't change anything."

Chuck looked at her with pleading eyes. "How can it not?"

"This is the same conversation we had years ago. You won't let me move on if you haven't. You won't let me be with someone else, even if it means my happiness–"

Then his lips were on hers, and for a moment she lost herself in the familiar sensation.

She remembered her dream. How she had given into him so easily, felt his lips and hands exploring familiar parts of her body, and nearly died from the explosive pleasure he willingly gave to her. Her lips began moving recklessly against his.

Just as his lips parted to deepen the kiss, she froze and quickly pulled away. What was she _doing_? Anyone could have seen them.

Fortunately, the kiss was so short that it could have been construed as a friendly farewell to a passerby on the street. And more auspiciously, only he and Blair were aware of the electrifying sensations clinging to their moistened lips as they pulled away from each other.

_There_, he thought as he gazed expectantly into her wide eyes. _There's the spark. She felt it as well._

"You're never going to let me go, are you?" Her voice was steeped with understanding.

His fingers curled underneath her chin, tilting her head up gently. The way her skin felt would never cease to thrill him, no matter how many times he touched her.

"No, Blair." His voice was husky; his eyes were darkened by desire. "Never again."

* * *

><p><em>First off: a humongous thank you to my beta <em>**terrabeth**_, who really went above and beyond for me. Without her guidance, this chapter would have been...clunky. So thank you, my dear :) _

_(Btw, if you haven't read her story called _"Into The Woods" _or its sequel _"Criminal"_, you should probably get on that.)_

_There aren't many things that make me happier than seeing a review in my inbox, so thank you! to QueenBee10, AquarianAir, Rf (why, thanks!), Maribells, Krazy4Spike, flipped, TriGemini, tiff xoxo, good2 (thanks!), Curious Blonde, Temp02, ggoddess (my dear, your review…brightened my day. I do hope you are pleased with the way the story evolves!), LeftWriter224, cc744 (thank you, I'm glad to hear that!), my beta, jamieerin, and my not-so-anon Yoda…you're all just as wonderful as can be! As for my readers, I adore you all. If it was in my power to give each and every one of you a smarmy, well-dressed and darkly handsome man–even if just for a night–I would in a heartbeat. _

_Lastly, my apologies for taking so ridiculously long to update. I'll do my best not to let it happen again! _


	6. I've Got A Plane To Catch

He was officially her goddamned shadow.

What made it worse was that Nicolas was away (for God knows how long) to consult with designers and brand managers across the country...which meant that she had no fiancé to hide behind.

Chuck had her right where he wanted her: alone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>ONE WEEK EARLIER<strong>_

The day after her "lunch" with Chuck, Blair accompanied Nicolas to the airport. An uncomfortable silence settled between them for the duration of the trip, making Blair wish she had stayed home.

When they finally arrived at the terminal, Nicolas turned in his seat to face her. "_Tout va bien, chèrie_?" he asked softly.

"Everything's fine," she responded, the tone of her voice echoing his.

_Lies told in Paris: 0. Lies told in New York: 2 and counting._

Nicolas reached across the seat to take her hand. "I know it's sudden, but I thought about what we…discussed yesterday morning, and you were right. I got where I am today because I put in a great deal of effort, and putting off my search for designers is irresponsible."

Blair didn't answer him. With luck, he would assume her silence meant she was still annoyed with him.

"I know it's not an ideal time, since we just got to New York…but I won't be gone long," he promised. "And we'll speak every day, of course." When she remained silent, he squeezed her hand gently and said, "I'm sorry about my behavior yesterday, Blair. I don't know what came over me. You've been excited about moving back to New York for months…I should have been more considerate of your feelings.

"The Upper East Side is your home…and you have twenty years of memories here," he continued. "It's understandable that you would want to spend time with old friends, especially Serena. I get to see you every day…I shouldn't have been so selfish. Can you forgive me?"

_Would you forgive me if you knew what I did?_ Blair wondered. She turned to look at him and regretted it immediately–his face was filled with remorse. Her heart twisted and her face burned with shame; she had never seen him look so contrite.

"Of course I forgive you," she managed to say. Her assurance sounded hollow in her ears, but he smiled at her.

A loud rapping on the window interrupted their conversation. "I'm sorry." Nicolas raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. "I don't want to miss my flight…but I will call you tonight, okay? We can talk more then."

Blair closed her eyes as he kissed her goodbye. She parted her lips instinctively, relishing the familiar taste of his mouth as he deepened the kiss. It was passionate and sweet…but there was something missing.

Nicolas pulled away and exited the car before she could pinpoint what it was, leaving her confused and a bit apprehensive.

Had Chuck done more damage to her relationship than she realized?

_No, you're just feeling guilty because you lied,_ she reasoned.

_Twice. _

…_fuck._

"That's quite enough of _that_," Blair declared.

"Is everything in order, Miss Waldorf?"

The voice of her driver startled her; she hadn't even noticed that he had gotten back into the car. Now he was staring at her in the rear view mirror, ready for her instructions.

"Of course everything is fine," Blair snapped in irritation. "Take me back to the city. _Now."_

She decided it was time for an _extensive_ retail therapy session.

When she arrived home several hours later, her arms loaded down with shopping bags, she noticed a large vase filled with pink peonies on the table in the foyer. A note protruded from among the mass of flower petals, and she set her bags down on the floor and picked it up reluctantly.

The stationary was embossed with a large "CB" across the top.

_Never again.–C_

The arrogant Basstard.

Blair hastily shoved the note into a shopping bag and hurried upstairs to unpack her things. She stowed the note away in a box buried deep in her closet, where she could be sure no one would stumble upon its incriminating message.

Later she would wonder why she didn't just set it on fire instead.

* * *

><p>On Tuesday evening, she entered the POSH fundraising event feeling more relaxed than if she'd taken a Lorazepam. She'd checked the guest list upon her arrival and happily found the Bass name lacking. After scanning the pieces up for auction, she came upon an incredible 1926 René Lalique glass chandelier and placed her bid. Then she spent a good deal of time walking around the room greeting acquaintances and exchanging pleasantries.<p>

When she made her way towards the restroom later, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Chuck was leaning casually against the bar, swirling his scotch as he watched guests mingle nearby.

_Great_, Blair thought.

No other man cut quite the figure that Chuck Bass did in a tuxedo. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his strong jaw freshly shaved, and his lips were pursed slightly as he studied the crowd before him.

Suddenly he looked her way and caught her stare. A hungry gleam in his eyes ignited instantly. He raised his glass to her with a smirk and she felt like she was on display…like she was on stage at Victrola again and he was toasting her fearlessness. She held his gaze for a moment before slipping into the crowd and through the exit before he could approach her.

God, he'd ruined her night _again_.

Just before she climbed into bed hours later, a large package arrived at her apartment containing the René Lalique chandelier and a note on familiar stationary.

_Stay for a congratulatory drink next time.–C_

Well, maybe her night wasn't _completely _ruined.

* * *

><p>The next morning, she opened the curtains at her bedroom window just to feel the warm sunshine on her face. Daydreams about summers past in the Hamptons filled her head, and she nearly called Dorota to tell her they were going to Central Park to enjoy the weather when a dark object caught her attention.<p>

A sleek black limo that she knew all too well was parked on the adjacent street.

Immediately realizing she was wearing a lace negligee, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest and retreated from the window.

Exactly one hour later, a small package arrived containing a sheer black baby doll and a note that read:

_Modesty doesn't become you.–C_

She kept the curtains closed for the rest of the week.

* * *

><p>Thursday evening was the annual Constance Billard-St. Jude's cocktail party. Blair knew from experience that Chuck would head to the bar as soon as he arrived (and he <em>would<em> arrive–she'd stake her life on it), so she kept a watchful eye on the corner of the room.

She didn't have to wait long; sure enough, he sauntered through the double doors and made a beeline to the bar. It wasn't a surprise when he appeared at her side minutes later while she spoke with a few other guests.

"Blair," he greeted her softly. He plucked the empty champagne flute from her hand and replaced it with a fresh glass. Their skin touched as she curled her fingers around the cool glass, and her heart leapt into her throat at the electricity that crackled between them.

She felt her skin heat rapidly and watched his eyes follow the flush that spread from her cheeks to her chest. She braced herself for a lewd comment, already mentally generating a retort. But instead of speaking he let out a low, ragged breath and shifted on his feet. His eyes darkened considerably, and he began to look…_uncomfortable._

Just as abruptly as he had appeared beside her, he excused himself.

Blair blinked several times in surprise; she'd never seen Chuck act that way. Her eyes followed him as he walked stiffly to the bar and stood with his back to the crowd, shifting on his feet again. If she didn't know better, she'd think that he–

_No way, _she thought, suppressing a giggle. Could just brushing against her skin really make him hard? As a familiar feeling stirred low in her belly, she realized that it could. One touch could certainly ignite lust.

Shaking the thought from her head, Blair remarked to those around her that she and Nicolas were still undecided on where to spend their honeymoon. She hoped the easy tone of her voice would stifle any gossip about her and Chuck, but it was impractical to think that talk wouldn't circulate, no matter how indifferent she acted. Everyone in attendance tonight knew that there had only been one love in Chuck's life, and he certainly had no great affection for St. Jude's.

That night, the note that came was an invitation, a promise, and a warning:

_And with just one touch…–C_

* * *

><p>She was completely prepared for him the following afternoon at Bendel's. He was blocking her exit from the changing rooms as she emerged with a dress draped over her arm.<p>

"Bass," she said coldly.

"Waldorf," he responded, tilting his head to read the label of the dress she held. "Just as I thought…Dior always looked _delectable_ on you."

Blair flushed a deep crimson to the roots of her hair.

"You–you were _watching_ me in the dressing room?" she spluttered.

He smiled wryly in response. She shoved past him and threw the dress down on a nearby chair, outraged at his audacity.

The dress arrived at her apartment an hour later, wrapped in tissue paper and nestled in a large box. Another bouquet of peonies accompanied it, as well as a note:

_I don't have to see it on to know it was made for you.–C_

Her eyes fell to the dress peeking out from the tissue paper. That motherchucker was right—it was perfectly suited to her body shape. She lifted the Dior from its box and walked upstairs to hang it up, knowing full well that she wouldn't be able to resist the urge to wear it to the next event she attended.

The note went straight into the hidden box in her closet, joining four others written by the same hand.

* * *

><p>Blair spent the next morning with her interior designer, Alena. The renovations on the new apartment had been completed early and Blair wanted to do a final walk-through before Alena got started on the decorating. Giddy with excitement, Blair turned the key in the lock and swung the front door open to find a sea of pink waiting for her.<p>

Dozens of bouquets of sweet-smelling peonies blanketed the floor of the foyer, pooling around an elegant, exquisitely detailed white chaise lounge.

"Oh, my," Alena gasped.

Blair's eyebrows furrowed and she grit her teeth. She moved quickly to snatch up a note resting atop the lounge and stuffed it into her purse. There was no need to read it now—not when she already knew whose elegant script covered it.

"He's a _keeper_."

"_What?_" Blair whirled around to face her companion with narrowed eyes.

"Your fiancé is a keeper." The woman was too busy staring dreamily at the romantic scene before her to notice Blair's icy tone. "Look at these beautiful flowers! And the chaise lounge…that piece is gorgeous."

"Oh…my fiancé. Yes, he certainly is worth holding onto," Blair said with an artificial smile.

She gestured towards the rest of the apartment. "Shall we get started?"

* * *

><p>When Blair awoke on Sunday morning, she was seized by an irrepressible urge to organize. She needed to add over a dozen social events to her calendar, collect information on a few more honeymoon spots, and whittle down the guest list for the wedding.<p>

The hours flew by. Sheets of paper scribbled with notes littered the dining room table and a large planner covered with post-it notes lay in front of her. Having a busy life usually excited her, but today she found her commitments exhausting.

It was all because of that Basshole. He was making her crazy with all his gifts and random appearances. He'd taken advantage of the fact that Nicolas wasn't home–he probably had his PI watching her again–and wormed his way back into her life with less than a dozen words.

Well, that wasn't quite true. If she took into account his daily notes, then–

"Focus, Blair," she admonished herself, holding up the proposed catering menu for the wedding reception. "Entrée: choice between salmon with white truffle risotto, bourbon glazed top sirloin–"

"Miss Blair?"

Her head jerked up to see Dorota standing in the doorway, holding a long box. "What is it, Dorota?" she snapped.

"This come for you," the maid replied quickly, placing the box on the table and scurrying away before her mistress could unleash her obvious frustration on her.

Blair eyed the box warily, wondering what he could _possibly_ be sending her now. For a moment she considered throwing the box out the window without opening it, but her curiosity got the best of her.

Inside was a chilled bottle of '97 Dom Pérignon wrapped in silk. It was accompanied by another note:

_Relax.–C_

She took his advice, too mentally exhausted to wonder how he knew she was stressed. In the words of Scarlett O'Hara, she'd think about that tomorrow.

* * *

><p>By Monday morning, Blair jumped at every noise she heard. She yelped when her shampoo bottle fell over as she reached for her conditioner, and she half-expected Chuck to leap out at her from her closet when she opened the door to choose an outfit. When the elevator bell dinged downstairs, she flew into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. A few moments later, she sheepishly remembered that Dorota had placed an order for fresh strawberries to be delivered that morning.<p>

"That's it," she mumbled to herself as flung the bathroom door open. "This is getting _completely_ out of hand."

It was time to get a second opinion about how to deal with Chuck, because ignoring him obviously wasn't working. Not to mention the fact that her best friend needed guidance when it came to choosing an appropriate maid of honor dress anyway.

Twenty minutes later, Blair sat quietly on the couch at Serena and Nate's apartment, struggling to find the best way to speak her mind.

"B," Serena cooed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her friend's face. "You've barely spoken since you got here. What's going on? Did Dorota walk in on you and Nicolas having sex or something?"

Blair rolled her eyes at her best friend and fidgeted with the hem of her dress.

"Come on," Serena prodded, bumping her shoulder against Blair's playfully. "Is it the wedding?"

Blair shook her head and sighed. It had been nearly half an hour and she still couldn't bring herself to tell Serena about her "lunch" with Chuck.

The day he _kissed_ her.

How could she explain to Serena that she'd done her best to avoid him and failed miserably? The man was literally _everywhere_.

The memory of his gentle kiss invaded her thoughts constantly, causing Blair to become short-tempered with Nicolas. During their daily phone calls, she'd begun picking fights with him and rolling her eyes at the little jokes that had always made her laugh before. When he'd finally asked what was wrong, she'd refused to acknowledge that anything was bothering her.

She imagined he was confused. She couldn't blame him; so was she. Keeping the kiss to herself was making her insane. Was it was possible to develop a personality disorder in seven days?

Whether it was or not, she _had_ to tell someone about Chuck before she cracked and spilled her shameful secret to the wrong person…like her fiancé.

"It's not about the wedding, S," Blair began quietly, tugging on the end of her dress nervously. "It…kind of concerns Nicolas. But it's mostly about what happened the next day–"

Blair was interrupted by a door opening and Nate's familiar voice calling, "Serena?"

"Nate!" Serena leapt up from the couch and skipped towards the front door. Nate's arms were already pulling her into a tight hug. He lavished her neck with kisses, making her squeal with delight.

Blair's mind was abuzz as she regarded the contented look on Nate's face. His honeymoon period with Serena was long over, yet she had never seen him so…happy. With a pang in her heart, she wished that she could have been around to witness the beginning of their relationship; it must have been a sight to behold.

Her musings were interrupted when she saw _him_ step into the room.

"Chuck!" Blair exclaimed, the alarm in her voice causing Nate and Serena to pull apart. "Why are you here? It's…well, it's Monday."

"Yes, and it's also the first of June," Chuck replied matter-of-factly. The way his eyes traveled over her body was distracting–it was like he was imagining the fastest way he could remove her clothing.

"I meant that it's _Monday_, as in a weekday," Blair explained. "Don't you have a multi-billion dollar company to run? Or somewhere more important to be?"

He smirked in response. "It's a pleasure to see you too, Blair." Stepping towards her, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, lingering there a moment before pulling away and greeting Serena. "I was at work, but Nathaniel came by my office and insisted I take the afternoon off to have lunch with my lovely sister."

Serena beamed at him, then her eyes widened and she looked at Nate. "Oh, I almost forgot! The architect delivered the plans for the spare room. Come look–it'll only take a minute."

"Okay," Nate replied, then shot a nervous look at Blair and Chuck. "No fighting, alright? We'll be right back."

The couple disappeared around the corner.

"We need to talk," Blair said. She thrust her arm through Chuck's and led him to the kitchen.

"Is that all you had in mind, Waldorf?" he responded with a wolfish smile.

"Ugh," she groaned, turning her face towards him. "Enough innuendo. I'd really appreciate it if you'd stop."

"I thought I made myself clear," he said patiently. "I'm not going to stop until you've kicked that French fry to the curb. If you think I'm going to give up after one _virginal_ kiss–"

Blair cut him off with an unintelligible cry, panicked that Serena or Nate would overhear them.

"Blair?" Serena's voice called from across the apartment. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Serena!" Blair shouted, forcing pleasantness into her voice. "Just having a quick word with Chuck. I'll be right there."

"What exactly do you want me to stop doing?" Chuck prodded, cocking his head to the side with feigned confusion.

"Stop following me around," Blair enunciated through clenched teeth. "And just for the record, playing dumb is pointless when you've repeatedly _acknowledged _the fact that you're stalking me. How did you manage to finagle an invitation to the POSH fundraiser? You weren't on the guest list–I checked."

"Blair," he sighed. "I'm Chuck Bass. I don't need to 'finagle' invitations to events."

Blair smiled mockingly. "Oh, right. You can do whatever you want. I forgot you're New York royalty now."

"If you choose to quote the papers, yes," he answered. "But to answer your question, I donate to quite a few charities, including POSH. My name doesn't need to be on a guest list."

"What about the Constance Billard cocktail party?" she quipped.

He clucked his tongue and pursed his lips. "Now Blair, why wouldn't alumni from St. Jude's be encouraged to attend such an event as well?"

"I didn't peg you as sentimental," she retorted.

"I never had anything to be sentimental about," he said softly, fixing his dark eyes on hers. "Until I lost you."

His fingers reached out to touch her soft cheek, moving slowly to the corner of her mouth and down to her chin, and the muscles in her neck tensed as his fingertips grazed over her throat.

Chuck waited for her to protest. If his advances were unwelcome, she could call for Serena or Nate. But she was silent, and he didn't need any more encouragement than that. The devil inside him smirked at the low cut of her floral print dress and the way her breasts heaved against the fabric. No matter how calm her face remained, her body always betrayed the way he made her feel; he'd seen the way that her skin flushed when their fingers touched at the Constance Billard-St. Jude's party.

Emboldened by the memory, he pressed his palm over her heart. He smiled at her, and she barely flinched. But her heart was beating rapidly–she was obviously struggling to decide whether fight or flight was the better way out of the current situation.

"Admit it," he murmured. "You're just as affected by my presence as I am by yours."

Blair's eyes grew wide. She drew in a strangled breath and realized her heart had begun beating even faster.

She shook her head defiantly.

"Say it," Chuck commanded, letting his fingers journey dangerously close to the tops of her breasts.

"No," she spluttered.

His hand dropped even lower. The tips of his fingers slipped under the fabric that gathered at her cleavage and began teasing the skin there.

"No?" he repeated dangerously.

"Chuck, I love Ni–"

His other hand shot out and grabbed her waist, pulling her against his body. She trembled when his free hand dipped to cup one of her breasts, kneading it gently through her dress.

"Careful, Blair," he warned, watching in amusement as she stiffened. "If the next word out of your mouth isn't 'you', there will be consequences much worse than this."

Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head at the mental images conjured up by the word _consequences_, but she was bound and determined to resist him. Her hands rose to his chest in an attempt to push away, but he just gripped her tighter.

"Let me go," she implored. "Nate or Serena could see us."

He chuckled darkly. "Honestly, do you think I care?"

"You'd better, asshole," she said, glowering. "Unhand me."

"Go ahead," he urged. "Convince me you don't think about our last kiss…that you don't fantasize about my lips on yours."

"I-I…" Blair stuttered, struggling to find her voice as he leaned down. His lips hovered next to her cheek, his light breath tickling her ear.

"I _know_ you do." His voice was husky; she felt her fingers curl into his chest. "And I know you think about more than just a kiss. What else do I do to you in your fantasies, Blair? Do I make love to you slowly…until you beg me to let you come? Or do I tear your clothes off before taking you on top of the kitchen counter?"

Suddenly, she was painfully aware of the open counter space next to her. Her heart skipped a beat. A voice in the back of her mind urged her not to give in to him, and she found herself regaining her resolve.

"_Excuse me?_" she said incredulously.

With a surge of anger, she pushed fiercely at his chest. The sudden force must have surprised Chuck, because he loosened his grip on her enough to allow her to break free from him. She backed away until she felt the cool metal of the fridge on her exposed shoulders.

"You're insufferable, Bass," she declared. "And I'd appreciate it if you kept your disgusting assumptions to yourself. I don't want to lose my appetite before lunch."

"It's true, isn't it?" His voice was thick with desire. "You couldn't stop thinking about me if you tried."

"No," Blair said firmly. "I don't think of you."

"You're lying," he said confidently, stepping towards her, never tearing his eyes away from hers. "You can't deny the way your body responds to me."

"I will admit, it's quite difficult to keep from feeling nauseous in your presence," she returned with a sneer.

He shook his head slowly. "What are you so afraid of, Blair?"

He was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face as he spoke.

"I'm not afraid of anything," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze sank down to his lips, and, instantly realizing her mistake, she flicked her eyes back up to meet his.

"Good." He tilted his head down to one side.

Blair's eyes fluttered shut. She knew that he was moving in for a kiss, but she couldn't bring herself to resist any longer. Surrendering to her desire, she parted her lips and wet them with her tongue. Her breath grew shallow…her heart was hammering in her chest…and Chuck's lips were hovering just a fraction of an inch away…

"Hey, we're gonna order some lunch from–_whoa._"

Nate had come around the corner of the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks at the scene before him.

The guilty parties snapped to attention immediately. Chuck's arms fell to his sides, and Blair forcibly shoved him away and began to sidestep around his body.

"Nathaniel," Chuck growled. "What perfect timing."

"I'm going to find Serena," Blair said, quickly, maneuvering around them.

"She's on the couch," Nate offered. As she left the kitchen she heard Nate ask, "What are you doing, man?"

Serena was on her laptop in the living room, looking over a restaurant menu. Blair walked over to her quickly, but didn't have a chance to say anything before she heard Chuck's voice ring out behind her.

"If you'll excuse me, sis," he said, sounding a bit strained. "I just remembered a meeting that I can't afford to miss."

Serena lifted her head and regarded him quizzically. "Okay…but don't forget about brunch this weekend. You promised Mom."

With a nod, Chuck left the apartment.

Serena looked between her boyfriend and Blair, noting the tense atmosphere between them. "Alright, B," she said, closing her laptop. "What's going on?"

A few moments of silence passed before Serena spoke again. "It doesn't have to do with Chuck, does it?" she asked carefully.

Blair flinched at the name.

"What happened?" Serena demanded. "Nate?"

"I, uh, went to the kitchen to ask if they wanted take-out," Nate explained. "And Chuck was…" He trailed off.

"Chuck was what?" Serena probed.

"Chuck was trying to kiss me," Blair responded with a look that said _duh_. She let out a heavy sigh. "Again."

"Wait, _again?_" Nate repeated.

"Yes. That's why I came over today, S," Blair explained, turning to her friend. "I needed to tell someone. He kissed me the day after my engagement party and he's been stalking me ever since."

She described everything that had happened since she had dragged Chuck away at her engagement party, only leaving out her dream about him and her fight with Nicolas.

"Oh, B, I'm so sorry. Chuck's really gone overboard this time, hasn't he?" Serena said sympathetically when Blair was finished. "You didn't keep the notes he sent you, right?"

"No, I–I got rid of them," Blair lied.

Serena sighed with relief. "That's good."

"Do you still have feelings for Chuck?" Nate asked abruptly.

"No," Blair scoffed, looking offended. "Honestly, Archibald, where do you get such ideas?"

"You just didn't seem like you were putting up much of a fight in the kitchen," Nate pointed out.

_Damn,_ Blair thought. _To think that we used to be able to get away with murder around him…_

"B?" Serena asked cautiously.

"Of course I don't have feelings for Chuck," Blair insisted. "I'm getting married in three months. And I love Nicolas," she added unconvincingly.

A heavy silence hung in the air as Serena and Nate looked at her with equally troubled expressions.

Blair was grateful for the interruption when she heard her cell phone chirp.

She jumped to her feet and rushed towards the sound, answering as soon as she saw the caller ID.

"Lottie," she greeted her caller enthusiastically. "How are you? I thought I wasn't going to start for another week or so- oh. Oh! No, no, that sounds wonderful! Of course it's no problem, I'd be more than happy to. Thank you!"

She turned back to Serena and Nate, a wide smile stretching across her face and her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"What was that about?" Nate asked with a chuckle.

"That was my boss, Lottie," Blair said. "She wants to cover some events in Paris over the next two weeks. Since I worked at French _Elle_, it makes sense that they'd send me…I know all the _important_ designers already."

"B, that's great!" Serena exclaimed. "When do you leave?"

"Tonight," Blair squealed.

"What about Nicolas?" Nate asked warily.

"I'm sure he won't mind," Blair explained, waving her hand in dismissal. "He'll have plenty to keep him busy here; he's saving his search for New York designers for last. I'll call him on the way back to my apartment."

Serena smiled at Blair's zest. "Want me to help you pack? Like old times?"

Blair rolled her eyes dramatically. "Like you even need to ask, S. Come on, _allons-y!_"

* * *

><p>Chuck went straight to his office when he left Nate and Serena's apartment.<p>

"Maria," he barked as soon as he exited the elevator, startling his secretary. "I need you to set up a meeting immediately."

"Yes, Mr. Bass," Maria said quickly. "Who would you like to see?"

"Nicolas Faria," Chuck replied, throwing down the folder his PI had compiled for him detailing Blair's fiancé. "His contact information is in there."

Maria nodded and waited patiently for him to continue.

"Bring the information to me when you've set a time," Chuck instructed. "And make sure to book the meeting under Jennifer Humphrey, fashion designer."

* * *

><p><em>Special thanks to <em>**terrabeth**_, whose beta skills are simply splendiferous, and _**Miss P**_, _who helps me gauge how in character Chuck is by how much she hates him.__

_LeftWriter224, tiff xoxo, Rf, TriGemini, Maryam25, Temp02, chairfan, flipped, QueenBee10, Killer Newton, GGfan73104, AquarianAir, jamieerin, & annablake...thank you for your reviews. They always make my day.  
><em>

_Did you hate it? Like it? Are you Team Chuck or Team Nicolas? I'd love to hear from you! _


	7. Ascension

**A/N: This chapter is part 1 of 4.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Bass!<em>"

The shrill voice nearly sent Chuck tumbling off the couch in surprise. His eyes flew open and saw Blair standing in front of him, her arms crossed and her foot tapping out an impatient rhythm on the floor.

"Yes, Waldorf?" he groaned, making it clear that he disapproved of her less-than-tactful method of waking him. He pushed himself into a sitting position and squinted at his watch, noting the late hour with a groan. When he looked up at her a moment later, Blair had cocked her head to the side and her eyebrows were raised expectantly.

"Well? What are you still doing here?" she demanded. "I ordered breakfast this morning so you could nurse your hangover and leave. Not that you _deserved_ breakfast, after what you did."

Chuck ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to counteract his bed head. "Thank you for that," he replied. "For breakfast, I mean. Not for the rather demanding note I found _attached_ _to my coffee_, instructing me to vacate your room before you returned."

Blair scoffed and crossed her arms. "And yet, _here_ you are."

"Here I am," he echoed, grinning in amusement. "And to show my gratitude for your…hospitality last night –"

"I never should have let you in to begin with," she interrupted.

There was something about her voice that made Chuck's heart thump wildly in his chest. His smile faded and cursed himself for not noticing the murderous tone sooner…and judging by her body language, her narrowed eyes would probably be the last thing he ever saw.

"Blair, about last night –"

"No." She held up a finger to silence him. "You've gone _too_ _far_ this time, Bass."

_Fuck._

She was going to kill him. If he wasn't so terrified, he would have chuckled at the inevitable headline in the papers the next morning: _The Beauty Murdered The Beast._

* * *

><p><em><strong>TWELVE DAYS EARLIER<strong>_

The glass doors at Charles de Gaulle slid open and Blair heaved a sigh of relief. She was back in Paris, where she could breathe again…away from Chuck and his stalking. And if he was going to follow her –_ she hoped he wouldn't_ – then he wouldn't show up for at least a day. That gave her plenty of time to relax: she would check into the suite _Elle_ had reserved for her at the _Montfleuri_, text Nicolas to let him know she had arrived safely before ordering room service, then hit some of her favorite boutiques before they closed for the evening.

Her first assignments from New York _Elle _– overseeing photo shoots, meeting with nearly a dozen designers, and writing a few short pieces on the translation of Parisian into American fashion – might make some people cringe, but she was Blair Waldorf. The pressures of deadlines only served to make her more efficient and driven. She would finish her tasks and still have plenty of time to pursue her own pleasures.

In anticipation of such down time, she had already called her father and Roman. They were in Tuscany at the moment, but they were returning to the vineyard in a few days. Her mother was busy with show preparations and her upcoming winter line, but promised lunch or dinner when things calmed down in a few days.

As soon as she arrived at her hotel suite, she fell onto the bed with a contented sigh and stared at the ceiling.

_Two weeks away is perfect,_ she thought. _Plenty of time to sort out this mess you've found yourself in with that Mother Chucker._

* * *

><p><em><strong>MEANWHILE<br>New York City, Lower Manhattan**_

"_Bass?"_

Chuck smirked in answer. The shock on Nicolas Faria's face as he entered his office delighted him; after all, the element of surprise was his favorite tactic to employ during war.

Because his pursuit of Blair was war. He didn't understand how much he still needed her, _loved her_, until he saw her again…and he had vowed to do anything in his power to get back the only woman he had ever loved. This pompous Frenchman standing before him was merely an obstacle in his path, one that he would eliminate as soon as he was given the opportunity.

But today, Chuck was willing to grant him mercy: he was prepared to offer his adversary a way to retreat unscathed.

Mostly.

Nicolas glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid that even if I _did_ have the desire to speak with you, I can't right now. I have –"

"A meeting," Chuck cut in, stepping further into Nicolas' office. "Yes, I know. With Jennifer Humphrey of JTH Fashion, correct?" He crossed the room lazily as he spoke, stopping an arm's length from his adversary. "She won't be here. I set the meeting under her name so that you'd be sure to keep the appointment. After our last…run-in, I knew you wouldn't be terribly inclined to see me."

Nicolas snorted, remembering when he'd met Chuck at his engagement party just over a week ago. He'd found him in a deserted hallway with his fiancée, running his hands all over her body…

"Why are you here, Bass?" Nicolas asked, forcing the image from his head.

Chuck's mouth twisted into a smile. "I have a proposition for you," he drawled. "One that I hope you'll be most receptive to, especially once you hear it in its entirety."

Nicolas eyed him for a moment, trying to decide if he had the balls to kick him out of his office. He hated Chuck after everything he'd done to Blair in the past, and he'd like nothing more than to wipe the smarmy grin off his face with a well-landed blow to the jaw…but Chuck Bass could make a formidable enemy. The brand he was building in the States was too young to survive with Bass Industries as an enemy.

Realizing that his situation was a bit of a catch-22, he clenched his jaw and restrained himself. Perhaps the opportunity to show Chuck just what he thought of his past with Blair would present itself again in the future.

The thought nearly brought a smile to his face.

"_Tr_è_s bien_," Nicolas acquiesced, taking a seat behind his desk and motioning for Chuck to sit across from him. The implications were not lost on him, as he used the exact tactic many times in his business dealings. The desk implied an unconscious power split, with the man sitting behind the desk wielding more power than the man sitting in front of the desk.

Chuck didn't like the feeling, but he was doing his best to ignore it.

"You'll find the necessary documents in here," Chuck said, producing a thick file from his briefcase and dropping it onto the desk. "Projections, explications of expansion plans, more…_effective_ marketing strategies. In about four years, your profits would allow you to buy and sell your brand several times over. Your company would thrive under the Bass name."

Nicolas blinked as the implications of his words sunk in. "You want to…_buy_ my brand?"

Chuck nodded. "I'm a businessman, Faria," he explained coolly. "I'm looking broaden my company's horizons. What better way than to start making my mark in the multi-billion dollar fashion industry?" He leaned forward and splayed his hand across the file. "The information in here tells me that your brand brings in a significant amount of revenue. _More_ than significant, I should say."

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs casually. "But with my company name endorsing you, you'd never have to worry about scouring the world for designers again; _they_ would come to _you._ And I wouldn't have to worry about grooming a company into something worthy of the Bass name, as your brand is already celebrated in Europe's upscale fashion niche. Your company would be the flagship of the new sector of Bass Industries. My proposal would benefit us _both_."

When Nicolas' eyes dropped and lingered on the file, Chuck knew that he had delivered a solid pitch. He imagined that the paperwork would be signed within a week and from there, he could begin the swift process of removing Nicolas from his position as head of the company. Then Nicolas would be left with nothing…and having no company and no personal fortune guaranteed that Blair would leave him.

Chuck knew as well as anyone that Blair was materialistic; that status, fashion, jewels and _money_ were just as important to Blair as the air she breathed. She was raised in the same world that he was: if you couldn't attend absurdly lavish parties clad in the latest designer clothes, send your children to the most exclusive private schools of the country, or employ a small army as staff, then you were _nothing_.

Therefore, in Chuck's eyes, there would simply be no competition if Nicolas had no fortune. Blair would leave him in an instant and then Chuck would have all the time in the world to win her back.

Chuck was so lost in his scheme that he almost missed Nicolas drag his eyes up from the file. "So?" Chuck raised his eyebrows in expectation. "Do you need more time to consider my offer?"

Nicolas remained silent.

"The contract is just inside, if you would like to read over it," Chuck prodded, eager to conclude his business. He reached across the desk and opened the file to the front page: a short description outlining the terms of acquisition. A space for Nicolas' signature lay below the signature of the owner of Bass Industries, where Chuck had already signed. "If you have any problems with it, you may call your lawyer, of course."

A long silence stretched out between the two men as they regarded each other. Chuck was almost worried - would Faria refuse his offer? - but then Nicolas nodded and plucked the contract from the pile of papers. Chuck smile was victorious as he folded his hands across his lap.

Nicolas echoed the smile, eyes never leaving Chuck's as he grasped the pages and tore them swiftly in two, then in half again, dropping the ripped sheets on the desk. He picked up the next page of the contract and repeated the process, then did it again.

Chuck forced himself to remain stoic through the process, though he was fuming inside. How _dare_ that French bastard deny an offer from him, an offer of _mercy_? Didn't he realize that Chuck Bass had ruined better men for lesser offenses?

As Nicolas laid down more mutilated pieces of paper, Chuck found himself incapable of restraining himself further and shot to his feet.

"I think you've made your point, Faria," he said, his voice low. "And I hope you understand the mistake you've made. Chuck Bass doesn't give second chances."

In response, the Frenchman calmly picked up the last remaining sheets of the contract and ripped them clean down the middle. Chuck clenched his jaw in anger and turned to leave, his hand just turning the doorknob when Nicolas spoke.

"I know all about your history with Blair," he announced. "She told me everything."

Chuck turned and raised his brows questioningly, still seething. "Did she now? And did she mention that I'm the love of her life?"

"She didn't exaggerate when she said you were delusional." Nicolas chuckled and shook his head, as if finally understanding a joke that Chuck wasn't privy to.

Chuck's expression blackened further, a dangerous look taking shape in his eyes as he began stalking towards Nicolas. "Just…_how_ well do you know Blair?"

"Better than you ever did," the Frenchman growled.

Chuck nodded, expecting a similar response. "I see," he said. "And did she –"

"Ç_a suffit_, Bass," Nicolas barked, holding up a hand. "I know why you're here, and it isn't because you want to buy my company. You're still in love with Blair and you'll go to any lengths to get her back. But she confides in me, and I in her. We have _no_ secrets. And you can't say anything to break my trust in her.

"Besides, why would she want _you_ after all you've done to her?" he continued, his voice growing more disgusted with each word. "You are the infamous playboy of Manhattan, going through more women in a week than most men do in their whole life. You treated Blair like a piece of property, and she accepted it because she believed that you _loved_ her. But the darkness you infected her with is gone now, and she'll _never_ love you again."

Nicolas paused to take a deep breath, then adopted a formal air not unlike the attitude Chuck assumed when speaking to someone he hated but couldn't afford to insult. His words were polite but contrasted sharply with the strained tone of his voice.

"I apologize for my frankness, _monsieur_ Bass, but I feel that it is the only way to make myself clear to you. I haven't the slightest intention of giving up my company, nor my fiancée, to you. As such…I believe that concludes our business here. I assume you can show yourself out."

For once, Chuck was at a loss for words. He was surprised by Nicolas' anger, but more so by how suddenly his anger had flared and diminished. Clearly, Nicolas was a man who had exceptional control over his emotions.

The tone of his dismissal made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate further antagonizing, but Chuck still had another card left to play. The devil inside him smiled at the seed of doubt he was about to plant. He turned as if to leave, going so far as to open the door before spinning on his heel and addressing the Frenchman.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Chuck announced with a finger in the air, as if he was only now remembering an important point he had neglected to bring up. "She came to see me a few days ago. In fact, she's been seeing a lot of me since your engagement party. You've been out of town, right?"

He smirked at the double meaning of his words. Nicolas wouldn't know that he had been watching Blair and putting himself in her path whenever he could, but he _might_ think that she had been seeking him out. And if that thought yielded even the tiniest shred of doubt…well, Chuck could certainly work with that.

His dark eyes remained fixed on Nicolas' unnaturally green ones, watching with excitement as they reflected surprise, denial, and finally anger.

"Hmm," Chuck taunted. "Since I'm not leaving with a black eye, I assume she didn't tell you _that._"

He dipped his head towards Nicolas as a parting gesture, but the simple motion spoke volumes:

_Checkmate,_ it said.

And then he was gone…leaving Nicolas alone to contemplate who was lying to him: his fiancée or Chuck Bass.

* * *

><p><em><strong>FRANCE, THREE DAYS LATER<strong>_

"Daddy!" Blair squealed as she beheld the breakfast laid out for them. "How did you know?"

Harold Waldorf beamed at his only daughter and wrapped an arm around his partner. "It was Roman's idea, actually," he announced.

Blair turned her shining eyes on Roman and gave him a wide smile.

"I thought you might be missing brunches at the vineyard," he explained with a wink.

The long table was swathed in a cream colored cloth and adorned with Blair's favorite china. Rainbows bounced off intricate crystal centerpieces and blossoms of the multicolored bouquets of peonies fluttered in the wind, creating a chic-romantic atmosphere. The ever-present bottle of wine from Harold and Roman's vineyard sat on a nearby cart with empty goblets, open and ready to be served. The champagne for their traditional mimosas chilled in a titanium bucket atop a similar cart.

Blair skipped over to her usual seat, the one that looked out over the picturesque vineyard that brought her father and his partner so much joy. Rows of stakes covered with lush green vines stretched out and rolled will the hills. Tuscan cypress trees lined the road that wound through the crests and valleys to the paved road beyond the property line. If the open space didn't seem freeing enough, the closest neighbor was a few kilometers away; if Blair squinted hard enough, she could just make out the stone walls of the distant estate basking in the sunlight.

The view had always soothed her overactive mind and given her a sanctuary to retreat to when her life became too much for her to handle.

But now, a painful memory began clouding the perfect scene before her: the night before her wedding months ago. Nicolas had showed her the manor she was staring at now, a nearly 300 year old home bursting with French history, and announced that it was his wedding gift to her. She'd been so angry with him for his assumption that they would live in France after they were married – though, to be fair, they hadn't ever decided _not_ to live in France – and the resulting fight had nearly been the end of their relationship.

Blair cringed at the memory and promised herself not to look up at the still-vacant home in the distance. She reached for her mimosa and took a generous sip, then smiled brightly at her father.

"How is it treating you?" Blair asked, gesturing towards the vineyard stretching out before them.

Harold lit up. "I was just going to tell you, Blair-bear," he said. "We've sold over 25,000 bottles so far this year, and we've still got six months to go."

"Daddy, that's great!" Blair exclaimed. "How did you get so many orders?"

"Earlier this year, Roman and I discovered this enchanting restaurant built into the hillside nearby," Harold explained with a smile. "We went so frequently that we got to know the owner. The details are quite boring, but he started selling our wine in the restaurant.

"Before the month was out," he continued. "We got a call from a food and wine critic. He'd tried our wine at that restaurant and wanted a case of it for his collection. Apparently, he's also been recommending it everywhere he's traveled, because the orders keep coming in. We had to expand the vineyard to accommodate orders for next season."

"And we added nearly a dozen to our staff," Roman said proudly.

"What began as a passion became something else entirely," added Harold. He was smiling happily, but there was something in his eyes that Blair hadn't seen before. She suddenly realized how much he had aged in the last couple of years.

"Daddy," she said gently, setting her fork down on her plate. "Are you alright? You seem tired."

"I'm fine," he answered, waving off her concerns. "I just didn't expect it to be this much work. The days are quite long, and I'm getting older –"

"You're absolutely not!" Blair interjected.

"– so it takes a harder toll on me. But I promise I'm fine. Thank you for asking, Blair-bear," he finished. "Now, tell me all about your new place in the city with Nicolas."

Though she was still concerned, Blair couldn't help but return his encouraging smile. She launched into an enthusiastic description of the apartment and the décor she chose, but her instincts had put her on alert. She made a mental note to ask Roman why her father seemed so different, but for now, she was content to bask in the beauty of the vineyard and the French countryside.

* * *

><p>Blair had succeeded in completely taking over at her old desk at Paris <em>Elle<em> by the end of her first week back_._

She spent hours scouring through look-books and articles to put the finishing touches on her article, tossing aside papers and binders she had no need of and forming piles of material she wanted to revisit later. If all went well, she could have her assignment done a couple of days early.

Then the intercom on her desk buzzed.

"_Excusez-moi_, Blair?"

Blair sighed in annoyance. _If Colette didn't keep interrupting me, I could have had my work done days ago,_ she thought.

She ground a finger on the intercom button. "_Oui_, Colette?" she snapped. "What is it?"

"_Je suis désolée_," came the flustered response. "Someone is here to see you."

Blair groaned. Just what she needed: another designer who saw her at one of the fashion shows she'd attended since she'd been in town, desperate for a mention in _Elle._

"Fine. Give me a minute," she replied, removing her finger from the intercom. Immediately, she began clearing her desk. Her experience at _Elle_ had taught her that if she looked like she was on her way out, the meeting time would be cut exponentially shorter. She could head back to her hotel and finish her work in peace, away from Colette and that damned intercom on her desk.

But what she _didn't _take into account was a certain dark-haired, billionaire playboy from the Upper East Side appearing like a conjured devil.

"You!" Blair gasped, her surprise causing her to shove a handful of photos into her bag. She should have winced at the sound of papers tearing and bending, but she had bigger things to worry about…

Chuck Bass stood in her doorway with his hands in his pockets, staring innocently at her.

* * *

><p><em>I'm embarrassed at how long it's been since I updated...this insanely long chapter has been mocking me from my computer desktop for months!<em>

_I'd like to give a_ _massive thank you to _**ivorykeys09**_, who really pushed me to hurryupandfinishalready, and is proof that Chair and Dair can get along :)_

_Thank you again to my reviewers (Maribells, annablake, tinamarie333, tiff xoxo, QueenBee10, SaNaa.91, TriGemini, D (thank you, I'm so glad you like it!), Krazy4Spike, KillerNewton, Maryam25, LeftWriter224, GGFan73104, Temp02, AquarianAir, ggoddess, hummelchen, jamieerin, Arazadia, Astynome, ivorykeys09, and my other anon D (if you don't like the story, no one is forcing you to read it...and thanks for letting me know how my story's going to turn out! :)), you are all wonderful and I love hearing each and every one of your thoughts. To those who added alerts to this story: you rock, too. :)_


	8. There's No Place Like Home

**A/N: This chapter is part 2 of 4.**

* * *

><p>"You!" Blair gasped.<p>

"Me," Chuck replied, winking at her. He leaned against the doorframe of her office at Paris _Vogue_, hands shoved in his pockets and staring innocently at her.

_Innocent, my ass,_ Blair thought with a snort.

"Why are you always sneaking up on me?" she demanded, grabbing a stack of magazines and thrusting them into her oversized Marc Jacobs hobo bag. "And what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in New York."

Chuck took her words as an invitation to strut into her office further. "I had a craving for those sweet chocolate pastries from Baccarat," he answered, picking up a look-book and flipping through it at a languid pace. "I thought you'd be used to my presence by now."

Blair stared with open loathing at the man before her. He just didn't know when to give up! And if he did, he certainly did a good job of pretending like he didn't. She snatched the look-book from his hands and added it to her bag, ignoring the way his eyebrows raised in amusement.

She dropped her bag onto her desk with a thud and turned to face him. "Who let you in?"

"A charming girl at the front – Colette, I believe?"

_Ugh, she is so fired._

Blair's response was swift: "I should have known that crossing the Atlantic posed no threat to a stalker of your caliber."

The corners of Chuck's mouth lifted into a complacent smile. "I'm not stalking you, Blair," he assured her smoothly. "There's actually some business here that I'm taking care of for Bass."

As he spoke, his fingers reached out to pluck a curl from its resting place on her shoulder. She stiffened as he rubbed it gently between his fingertips…but before she could balk at the contact, he let it fall.

Then he threw her off completely balance.

"You look beautiful today," he whispered. His hand came up to cup her cheek and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

For a moment, his bad-boy façade fell away. Something about his voice…it wasn't dripping with smarm or ulterior motives. It was soft and soothing; it was the voice he reserved for her when they had escaped from the eyes of the world and they could just be _ChuckandBlair._

For a moment, she remembered what being in love with him felt like. She remembered the times he brought her flowers when she was sad and surprised her with romantic evenings and kissed her cheek hello, because he knew how romantic she found it.

For a moment, he was _her _Chuck again.

His mouth came dangerously close to hers as he slowly drew back; she could feel his short puffs of breath on her face. She recalled the last time he had been this close to her: Serena and Nate's kitchen, when she had nearly begged him to kiss her. If he tried to kiss her now, she didn't know what she would do.

The spell broke at that thought. She knew _exactly _what to do if he tried to kiss her, and that was to tell him to go to hell. Or somewhere far, far away where he could make passes at someone else's fiancée.

"Stop it, Chuck." Her voice came out as a whisper, so she cleared her throat and continued in a more confident tone: "Do you have short-term memory loss or something? Didn't I just tell you a few days ago that this –" she gestured between them "– isn't going to happen?"

His eyes flashed and he leaned back, still toe-to-toe with her but no longer a breath away.

"Since you've been _spying_ on me, then I'm sure you realize how busy I am," she said haughtily. "I have to get back to my hotel."

"I'll drive you," he blurted immediately, reaching for the bag that she clutched tightly in one hand, stopping only when she jerked it behind her.

"That's not necessary, Chuck," she protested. "My car will be here any minute."

"I insist."

She could tell by his tone that there would be no arguing with him; they could continue their banter for hours and he might never concede. Realizing she didn't have time to prove her theory right or wrong - and remembering that she hadn't even _called_ a car yet - she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Fine," she agreed. "But straight to the hotel. And quickly…I have work to do."

Chuck nodded. "The car's already waiting."

Blair gathered her things, then breezed past him and walked purposefully to the sliding double doors that led onto the street. A shiny black car that obviously belonged to Chuck idled at the curb.

But before the driver or Blair could reach her door, Chuck had pulled it open and was waiting patiently for Blair to enter the car.

He motioned for her to get in. "Blair," he said, his voice warm and soft again.

She resisted the urge to gape. Chuck had always treated her like a gentleman, but she had never witnessed him open his limo door for her.

Maybe time _had_ changed him…if he was opening the door for her - a task he had always left to the building staff or his driver - maybe he had changed in other ways too. Perhaps…

No, she chastised herself as she climbed into the car and settled into the cool leather seats. He was still the same man who had betrayed her trust, lied to her for his personal gain, and slept with the person she hated most in the world. He could never be anyone different; all of the things he'd done to her were the _essence _of Chuck Bass. He didn't care about anyone but himself.

Why did being around Chuck always make her thoughts fly off in crazy directions? She shouldn't even be thinking about him or whether or not he'd changed. She had the most wonderful fiancé she could ask for. He was her other half, the one she would grow old with.

Just as she was smiling at the prospect of growing old with Nicolas, Chuck slid into the seat next to her with a smile and winked.

The butterflies went mad; she looked away from him quickly and focused on the stone building adjacent to the car.

_Damn him!_

With Chuck's nod to the driver, the car entered traffic and they were on their way.

"So," he said casually. "How was your visit to the vineyard this weekend?"

Blair rolled her eyes. Of _course_ he knew that she went to see her father. "It was nice," she replied. "The vineyard is doing quite well; it's grown even in the few months since I was there last."

A genuine smile appeared on Chuck's face. "That's good to hear. How are Harold and Roman?"

Instinctively, Blair lit up at the mention of her father and his partner, but it quickly faded when she recalled how different her father looked. She broke their gaze to look out the window, hating how quickly her eyes started stinging.

The sound of Chuck moving on the leather seats made her wish she hadn't gotten in the car. She didn't want him to see her like this: weak, crying...

_Vulnerable._

Chuck's voice was soft: "Blair?"

She clenched her jaw and plastered her best society smile on her face before turning to look at him. His head was tilted to the side, granting him a better look at her. Concern radiated from his warm brown eyes. "Why are you crying?"

_Don't say anything, don't say anything,_ she chanted to herself. _If you start talking, you'll start crying…and if you start crying, he'll see that you're weak and try to take advantage –_

"I think something's wrong with Daddy," she blurted, the predicted tears brimming immediately as she watched Chuck's face fall. Before she could reach up to wipe her eyes, Chuck had pulled her across the seat to wrap his arms around her.

The feel of his body was both familiar and alien; it had been so long since they had been this close. And though she knew that allowing him to hold her blurred some lines, she couldn't deny that his embrace comforted her. Maybe if she pretended that Nicolas was holding her, reassuring her, then she needn't feel bad…

But the sensations that Nicolas Faria and Chuck Bass inspired were too distinguishable, too wildly _separate_ from each other. She could be blind and deaf and still be able to tell them apart just by how they touched her.

She should have pushed him away. She should have listened to the voice of prim and proper Blair Waldorf, telling her that she was headed down a dangerous path. But instead she melted into his arms and allowed herself to be comforted, remembering another time he had held her this way.

_Blair heard the door open over the sounds of the shower and her tears and cursed. Why was he home already?_

_"God, that son-of-a-bitch from legal – the one whose father was on the board years ago? – is making my life hell. And I know it's because of that mess with Bart when –"_

_His next words were drowned out by a sob that she couldn't hold in any longer. She tried to mask it with a cough, but Chuck Bass wasn't stupid._

_"Blair, are you cr –"_

_"No, I'm fine!" she snapped. "I just…some of my conditioner dripped into my eye, and it stings."_

_The frosted glass separating them softened the sharp angles of his suit. She shivered despite the steam billowing from the hot shower water; she was desperate not to allow him to see her like this – weak, crying, vulnerable – and willing to do almost anything to make him go away._

_"You're lying." _

_She squeezed her eyes shut and commanded her voice to remain steady. "No, I'm not. I'll be out in a minute, Chuck. Just wait for me in bed."_

_The rush of cold air an instant later surprised her and her eyes flew up in alarm. Chuck was standing in the doorway of the shower, eyebrows drawn together in concern. She wrapped her arms around her body to combat the sudden chill he had invited in. _

_She knew from the pained look on his face that he saw right through her lie. "I told you I'd be there in a minute."_

_"You didn't get any conditioner in your eyes, Blair," he said softly._

_"Yes I did, Basshole," she insisted, hoping that he would give up if she argued enough. "I told you –"_

_"There's nothing in your hair," Chuck interrupted. "It's barely wet. Hell, you haven't even taken the pins out of it yet."_

_She closed her eyes in defeat. "Please," she whispered, turning so that her back was to him. "Just leave." Her resolve to hide her breakdown from him now completely abandoned, she sniffled and wiped the wetness from her eyes. Her legs felt shaky and she knew she didn't have the strength to stand anymore._

_She sunk to the floor of the shower and hugged her legs to her chest. Then the shower door shut and the cold evaporated. Solid arms tugged her back to where Chuck now sat behind her, and she allowed herself to be pulled onto his lap and into his embrace. _

_Within moments, the shower – and Blair's tears – had completely drenched them. Chuck's suit stuck to his body and he realized that in his haste to comfort Blair, he had neglected to remove his shoes._

_"Chuck," she sobbed into his chest. "Your suit…shoes…they're ruined."_

_But he didn't care about his shoes._

_He answered her instead by tugging the pins out of her hair and letting them fall to the shower floor. His fingers combed through her locks, twisting the strands into thick spirals and letting them fall down her back. She shook with sobs, her face buried in the crook of his neck and her arms tucked between them._

_"What happened?" he asked after she had calmed down a little, tilting his head down to kiss the top of her head. "Did Eleanor say something about NYU again?"_

_"N-no," she choked._

_"Was it about me?" he ventured._

_"Maybe." Blair sniffled._

_When Chuck sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head, she knew he was waiting for her to continue._

_"She thinks we're moving too fast," Blair explained. "But we haven't even moved in together!"_

_Chuck kissed her head and spoke into her hair. "She seemed fine with me the last time I saw her."_

_Blair ignored him. "She had the nerve to say to me: 'He's Chuck Bass, why would he buy the cow when he can get the milk for free?' What a pedestrian idiom! As if we could ever be so common. Doesn't she know –"_

_"She can't hate me that much," he chuckled._

_"– your reputation?" She scoffed and realized that she was no longer tearful, but growing rather indignant. "She must not, because if she did, we wouldn't need to have such an embarrassing dinner conversation. For you to sleep with the same girl more than once is an accomplishment –" _

_"Eleanor invited to Thanksgiving."_

_"– but a relationship? Now, that is a completely different –" Blair stopped mid-sentence and pulled away from Chuck slightly. She needed to see his face, to see if he was joking. Had she just heard him say "Thanksgiving"? _

_"Did you just say that my mother…invited you to Thanksgiving this year?" she asked incredulously._

_Chuck looked down at her and nodded. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth._

_"In France?" Blair asked, pulling back further. "With Daddy and Roman?"_

_Another affirmative nod._

_Blair eyed him skeptically. "What did you say?"_

_Chuck reached up and traced her jaw with his fingertips. The contact sent sparks shooting across her skin, making her want his fingers to trail over every inch of her body._

_Chuck's eyes burned into hers. "I told her that I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," he replied, voice smooth as silk. "I want to be included in your traditions, Blair. All of them."_

_Blair found herself torn between grinning and shedding happy tears. She knew Chuck was a closet romantic, but still…he wanted to be included in family holiday celebrations. It was a huge step for him._

_"So you're going to come?" Blair whispered. _

_Chuck smirked. "I intend to stick around for a few more Waldorf family traditions."_

_"Just a few?" Blair asked, raising her eyebrows._

_"Well," Chuck said as he dipped his head closer to hers. "I hope someday we can make some family traditions of our own."_

_She caught herself before she spluttered in shock. Had Chuck Bass just insinuated that they'd be married one day? She had thought about it, of course – but for Chuck to bring it up was definitely a shock to her system. _

_Her eyes must have been wide as saucers, because he chuckled. "Does that meet with your approval, Waldorf?"_

_Blair didn't bother answering him. Her lips were on his a heartbeat later and her hands were peeling away the layers of clothing covering his body. Chuck made love to her for hours – until she didn't have the strength to form a coherent sentence, much less remember why she had been crying in the shower to begin with._

_He had saved her again._

"Blair, it's okay," Chuck murmured, brushing at the tear tracks on her cheeks. "Tell me what happened. Why do you think something's wrong?"

"He's just…different. He seems tired," she said, sniffling in a very unladylike way.

"Tired? That's it?"

"Well, he looked tired, so I asked him if he was feeling okay," Blair explained. "When he told me everything was fine, Roman glanced at me. I just knew…Daddy was leaving something out."

"Did you ask Roman about it?" Chuck asked, his thumb rubbing slow circles on her shoulder.

"I could never get Roman alone," Blair sighed. "Daddy took me on a walk around the vineyard, and when we got back he sent Roman out to do an errand. I had to leave for Paris before he got back."

Chuck was silent for a moment, but his fingers began twisting strands of her hair between them.

"I'm sure your father would tell you if something were wrong," Chuck said a moment later. "He wouldn't want to see you worrying."

Blair pulled out of his arms and wiped her eyes. "That's _exactly_ the point," she retorted. "He won't tell me because he knows how I'll react. And I'll bet he told Roman not to say anything, too."

"Would you feel better if I had my PI look into it for you?" he asked.

"You would do that?" Blair said, surprised at his offer.

_You're never going to let me go, are you?_

_No, Blair. Never again._

Chuck reached out to take her hand and raised it to his lips. His eyes burned into hers as he branded a kiss into her skin. Was her heartbeat always this loud?

"I'd do anything for you," he whispered.

She knew she shouldn't accept his help. She should tell him to forget about it, that she was more than capable of charming the information out of Roman. If she didn't, he was likely to think that she was encouraging him. But for every part of her that rebelled, there was another part that was…_touched_.

So instead of refusing, she thanked him quietly. He answered her with an equally soft "you're welcome."

They spent the remainder of the ride in silence – Chuck was on his phone (presumably texting his PI) while Blair stole glances at him, wondering where the sudden change in him had come from. He'd known that she had visited her father…was he also aware of what was wrong with him? Or was this a new tactic he was trying to win her back?

When they arrived at Blair's hotel, he got out of the car and opened her door for her (_again!_), then held her hand as she climbed out of the vehicle. She was so distracted by her theories on his abrupt change in manners that before she realized what was happening, he'd placed another gentle kiss on her cheek.

"Everything will turn out alright," he promised, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear before leaving her.

She made it up to her hotel room before she touched her fingertips to the place where his lips had just been.

* * *

><p><em><strong>SEVEN MONTHS AGO<strong>_

Nicolas laughed as he steered her into a room free of excited (and tipsy) guests. He wound his arms around her waist and drew her against his body. "Are you ready for your present?"

"I'm marrying you tomorrow. _That's_ my present." She winked and stood on her toes to kiss him.

"Right. But I'm impatient, and I've got my half of the traditional wedding gifts –"

"Which we both agreed would be exchanged before the ceremony. _Tomorrow_," Blair reminded him, punctuating her words with trails of kisses along his jaw and throat. "So unless this…_gift_…results in one of more articles of clothing being removed in the next minute, it will just have to wait another twelve hours."

"Fourteen," Nicolas corrected. "But I have another gift to give you tomorrow…and I promise you won't regret getting this one early."

She rolled her hips against him, her excitement mounting when she heard his breath hitch. "Does it involve showing me how much you can't wait to marry me?"

"Yes," he replied huskily, his arms wrapping around her waist. "But not in the way you're thinking."

She pulled back and stared up at him, her lower lip sticking out in her perfected pout. "Okay…fine. But will lips be involved in any way?"

"Mm, no," he answered with a smile.

"Hands?"

He shook his head.

She ginned wickedly at him, her fingers plucking at his tuxedo buttons. "Tongues?"

"I'm afraid not," he teased. "But I can guarantee there will be plenty of that later, if that helps?"

Blair raised her eyebrows and gave him an angelic smile. "It would…if you were allowed to see me. But once this party is over, you're going back to your place. I'm staying here tonight."

"This is a silly tradition, Blair," Nicolas said in an exasperated tone.

"It's tradition nevertheless," she said, giving him a good-natured smile. "So if pre-marital sexual favors aren't my present, I demand that you show me my real gift now…so I can get back to changing your mind about aforementioned favors."

Nicolas didn't waste a moment – he pulled a ribbon from his jacket pocket and held it in front of her. Hanging from it was an old looking brass key and a tag.

"Nicolas!" Blair exclaimed, wrapping her fingers around the key. "What is this?"

"Read, _chèrie_."

Blair shot him a playful look and held the tag up, reading quickly. A beat later, she looked up at him, and then back down at the tag.

He watched her with excitement in his eyes, eager to see her light up when she understood what he was giving her. "Do you like it?"

"This is a key…to a house," she stated.

"_Oui_," he replied. "But not just any house, Blair."

He took her hand and pulled her to the window at the far wall. He pulled the curtains open and directed her gaze south. In the darkness, a few kilometers away, she saw a house bathed in golden light.

"Here," he whispered, putting a pair of binoculars into her hands.

She let out a gasp when she looked through the lenses. The house – no, _mansion_ – was clearly built many, many years ago. From what she could tell, it looked to be from the 17th century at least. Modern supports had clearly been added to the structure, but it retained its old-world charm. The shutters at the windows had been made to be decorative instead of functional, and she could just make out the beginnings of a well-lit and tiered garden off the back of the house.

When Blair lowered the binoculars and turned, she found Nicolas smiling expectantly at her. "What do you think?" he asked.

Blair opened her mouth, unable to speak. The gift was so lavish, so extraordinary, so…_much_ – she never expected anything like it. A diamond and platinum tennis bracelet? Of course. Plane tickets for their honeymoon? Sure.

But a _17__th_ _century manor_ in the French countryside? She never expected _that_.

"Is this a summer home?" she finally blurted.

Nicolas looked puzzled. "No," he answered slowly. "It's…a home. _Our_ home."

"Our home? As in…_full-time_ home?" Blair said, dazed. Her thoughts were suddenly zooming around in different directions.

Nicolas watched with concern as her eyes glazed over. He put his hands on her shoulders and spoke to her reassuringly. "You don't have to worry, Blair; we can have all of our things moved there while we're on the honeymoon, and –"

"But what about my job?" Blair said, tripping over her words in her rush to get them out. "And – and your company? Our friends? We're _five hours _from Paris! How do you expect us to work that way?"

"Well, I can work from anywhere in the world," Nicolas explained her in a calm voice, realizing how quickly the situation could get out of hand. "And…you do most of your work from your office at home, so I spoke with your editor at _Vogue_. She said it was fine, as long as you attend all the important weekly and monthly meetings. Plus –"

Blair had been gazing down at the floor in an attempt to organize her thoughts, but at his last words, her gaze snapped up to meet his and she became frenzied.

"Stop right there," she demanded. "I do most of my work from home, so therefore it's just _no_ _big deal_ to pick up and move hours away? And you discussed this with _Sophie_? Without speaking to me first?"

"Calm down, _chèrie_ –"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" she shrieked.

"Blair, the guests," he warned, tightening his grip on her shoulders. She immediately wiggled out of his grasp and took two steps back, eyeing him dangerously.

"I don't give a _damn_ about the guests, Nicolas," she hissed.

He threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine, make a scene. I thought you _liked_ the vineyard?"

"I _do _like the vineyard," Blair spit, restraining herself from shaking sense into him. "That's not the point."

"Then tell me, Blair: what _is_ the point?" Nicolas countered. "Because I thought you would love to live out here, in a beautiful home with your father and Roman so close by. Paris is just a few hours away, not across the world."

Blair rolled her eyes angrily. "The point is that you didn't even _ask_ me before you decided all this!"

"_Mon dieu,_ you are a spoiled little princess!" he exclaimed, turning towards the window and gesturing towards the distant estate. "Everything I've done to surprise you…you're just…ugh! I can't win with you. You've always told me how you wish your father lived closer…so I go out of my way to make this move easy for you, and you're being –"

"If I'm so difficult, then don't be with me," Blair snapped, stung by his words. "Just leave me, go off and have your family find you some _convenient_ marriage."

"Stop it, Blair!" he yelled. He began pacing, trembling, and gesturing wildly in an attempt to keep himself from exploding. "I'm _not_ leaving you. I'm trying to explain to you that even though sometimes it's hard, this – _us _– always been worth it. I wanted to give you something that I thought you would like, something that I believed would make you happy."

"Maybe you should have mentioned that 'gift' _before_ our rehearsal dinner," she answered venomously. "Or better yet, before you bought it."

"I didn't think that I needed to clear gift-giving with you, Blair," he retorted. "Maybe I should have just handed you a necklace, or a…a Matthew Williamson dress and called it a day, then?"

Blair felt her breath catch in her throat; her voice was a whisper. "A what?"

Nicolas ignored her and continued his rant. "Yes, next time I'll remember that obviously a _home_, a place where we can build a life together, is just too much…"

_Her face was red and eyes filled with tears, but she couldn't care about that now. Appearances meant far less to her in that moment than they ever had before, because she could never be as hideous on the outside as she felt in her soul. _

_She hated him._

_She hated his uncle, his mother, the memory of his father that drove him to this point, his fucking hotel…_

_But mostly, she loathed herself._

_"I did what I had to…to win."_

_"No," Blair whimpered. Even her voice offended her; it reeked of desperation and embarrassment. _

_"I can't let my feelings cost me all that I've built," he explained. His voice sounded desperate, as if he was trying to convince himself that his actions were forgivable._

_"Even if it means losing me instead?" She stepped towards him. "All I ever did was love you."_

_She wished he could understand that he'd broken her, that there was no explanation he could give for doing what he did, that she'd never see him the same way again._

_Because now she knew that she was a pawn to him – someone he could use as a means to an end. He considered her his property, something he…owned. _

_The very word made her sick. Blair Waldorf, the property of Chuck Bass? This wasn't how it was supposed to be! They were supposed to be a team. They were supposed to figure things like this out together._

_"The worst thing I ever did, the darkest thought I ever had…you said you would stand by me through anything," Chuck quoted her, making her throat sting with a mixture of tears and bile. "This, Blair, is anything."_

_"I never thought that the worst thing you would ever do would be to me!" she cried._

_"You went up there on your own."_

_The sound of her hand making contact with his cheek echoed through the empty hallway._

_"Good-bye, Chuck."_

Nicolas' voice was booming now.

"– think I'm just going to sell it back, you're wrong – we're moving there and that's final, do you understand –"

"_You don't_ _own me!_" Blair screamed, cutting him off. She snatched the closest thing to her on the table and hurtled it across the room, watching as it shattered against the wall.

Nicolas took a step back and stared at her in horror.

Blair had never lost her temper with Nicolas before; the fights they had were generally over before either could raise their voice. But now, on the eve of their wedding day, she'd thrown something – a champagne flute, she realized – at her fiancé and accused him of _owning_ her. She was comparing him to Chuck…

She was comparing _Nicolas Faria_ to _Chuck Bass_. The two men couldn't be more different from each other, and yet, she had managed to make them one and the same. All from one fight…one fight that made her remember that terrible night at the Empire.

Thinking about Chuck in any way on the night before her wedding…that wasn't a good sign _at all._

"I can't do this," she said, shaking her head slightly and keeping her eyes trained on Nicolas. She couldn't bear to look at the evidence of her outburst dripping down the wall.

Nicolas blanched. "Blair…_ce?_"

"This…the wedding…I can't do it," she said, each word hammering at her heart. "The wedding is…off, Nicolas."

She didn't want to wait for him to argue; she knew she wouldn't be able to stomach it. She just wanted to escape, to be alone, to understand what was going through her mind without Nicolas there to hinder the process.

Fortunately, Nicolas looked unable to speak.

But as Blair turned to flee from the room, she found a group of guests from the reception watching the scene intently. She didn't know how long they had been standing there or what they had heard, but from the looks on their faces, she guessed they'd seen enough.

Eleanor stood before her with a pained expression, clutching her father's hand tightly.

Blair felt her heart break again at the sight, but she couldn't – _wouldn't_ – back down now. Something had broken inside her when she'd thought of Chuck…she wouldn't be able to go through with her marriage to Nicolas after what she'd just accused him of.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, wishing that she had the words to explain what had just happened. "I just can't…I'm sorry."

Then she rushed towards the shocked crowd, which parted enough for her to escape without another word.

* * *

><p><em>I promised some of you a fast update, but are you surprised to see one so soon?<em>

_Thanks to _**ivorykeys09**_, whose constant ideas and general awesomeness make me work twice as fast. _

_Many thanks to those who added alerts...but especially to those who reviewed: tinamarie333, Maryam25, ivorykeys09, D (I hope this chapter was a bit more to your liking - there's plenty of time for Chuck to make up for himself yet! :)), Rf (thank you!), Krazy4Spike, Temp02, TriGemini, Aliennut, LeftWriter224, 88Mary88, and TerraBeth (it's good to be back!). _

_And don't worry, we'll find out why Chuck was in Blair's suite in the next chapter! Anyone care to share their guesses? :)_


	9. Requiem For A Dream

****A/N: This chapter is part 3 of 4.****

* * *

><p><strong><em>PARIS. TEN WEEKS UNTIL THE WEDDING.<em>  
><strong>

Chuck stole another glance at himself in the mirror before he left his hotel suite, even though he knew he looked impeccable. He always did.

The smells of the cool Paris night floated around him as he exited his hotel. He sighed in contentment; he was in Paris, _she _was in Paris, and there was no fiancé or blonde dynamic duo to interrupt them. Their kiss on the crowded streets of New York had left him hungry for more, and being thwarted by Nate in the kitchen still made him growl in frustration.

_The cool exterior, the fire below…_

Chuck was no fool; he knew he was walking a fine line with Blair. One false step, one word too many, and she'd make sure he never came close to her again. She was just as resourceful and cunning as he was; if she truly wanted him gone from her life, she'd make sure it was done. There would be no room for doubt.

His instincts were right: there was still something between them. Surely she realized it as well?

A voice and a gust of wind interrupted his thoughts; his car door had been opened. "_Monsieur _Bass? We've arrived."

Chuck exited the car, walking with eager steps through the hotel to Blair's room.

_Blair, I'm sorry about this afternoon. I swear I'll find out what's wrong with your father and do everything in my power to help, even if I have to fly specialists in from every corner of the world. He'll be safe, I promise, I don't want you to ever have to go through the pain of losing him…_

He reached her door within moments and knocked firmly, stepping back to take a deep breath. He steeled himself for the possibility that she might just ignore him. But what if she wasn't even in her room? What if she'd gone out - met up with some friends or gone shopping for the evening? Shit, why hadn't he made sure that she was here before he rushed over to –

The door swung open then and a curse caught in his throat. All preparation in the world couldn't have helped him in that moment…he was in trouble.

_Son of a…she's fucking gorgeous._

"The food better not be cold, it's been almost half an hour – _Chuck?_"

Blair stood gaping in the doorway – she'd obviously neglected to check who was knocking – with a towel in one hand and wearing a robe that had been loosely belted in haste. Her hair hung in wet tendrils down her back and over her chest, soaking the already sheer fabric of her robe.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her shock dissolving quickly into panic. She poked her head out into the doorway and look up and down the hallway, making sure no one was around. "Get in here before someone sees you!"

She grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him inside her suite, nearly slamming the door behind her.

"What were you thinking, showing up here when anyone could have seen you?" Blair asked, giving him a final push as she released her hold on his shirt.

Chuck opened his mouth to speak, to tell her that he'd spoken to his PI about her father, but found himself running his eyes along her body instead. Blair followed his gaze and saw that she may as well not even be wearing anything at all – the top of her robe had become so transparent from the water dripping from her hair. Her hands instinctively reached up to wrap the towel around her body, but Chuck darted forward to stop her.

"Don't," he whispered, fingers burning where they touched Blair's skin. "You're so beautiful..."

He was toe-to-toe with her; she could feel his ragged breath on her face. Blair raised her eyes to meet his, already knowing what she would see. Dark eyes shining with intensity bored into her, warning her of what was coming...but it seemed that her reflexes were moving slower than usual. Just when she raised her hands to push away from him, just when she opened her mouth to protest his proximity to her, his lips covered hers.

Dexterous fingers knotted in her wet hair, tugging lightly and eliciting a small whimper from her. His other hand wrapped around her waist and crushed her against him. When his tongue coaxed her mouth open a moment later, she thought she might die from an overload of sensations. She marveled at his familiar taste as she matched the thrusts of his tongue and pressed herself against the length of his body.

She gasped for breath when he pulled back to nip at her lips, moving on to her jaw and towards her ear. They became a tangle of hands, hot breaths, and skin – bodies so close that Blair could barely tell where she ended and he began. It wasn't until he began suckling on the sensitive spot below her ear that she snapped out of her reverie.

Blair ran her fingers through his hair and grasped at his neck, shuddering against him as his tongue traveled down her neck. What on _Earth _was she doing? She was letting Chuck kiss her…no, worse: she was _encouraging_ him.

Oh, God. She _wanted_ him. She wanted him again, after all these years…there was no way she could convince herself otherwise now. She was a fool for thinking that she could ignore the feelings that he sparked in her. Feelings that, she suspected, she would always have for him.

This was not good at all.

In an instant the air around her turned sickening and heavy, and Chuck's roving hands did nothing to help the suffocating feeling swimming in her head. She needed to think, needed to gather her wits…needed to pull his hands off of her. She needed to end this. But when she moved her hands to his chest to push him away, he just pulled her closer.

"Chuck…_please_," she pleaded, straining against his embrace.

"Please what?" he murmured, his lips moving across her collarbone and his hands wandering down her back.

She tugged at his arms and tried to wriggle out of his grip. "Please…don't do _this_."

Chuck's ears perked up at her pleading tone; the lust that clouded his brain began to clear. Blair was shaking beneath his touch, her body leaning away from him, and her eyes were filling with tears –

Wait, she was _crying?_

He released her so quickly that she nearly stumbled backwards, but she caught her footing and looked away, a fresh tear track shining on her cheek. He felt like he'd been sucker punched – seeing Blair cry because of things he couldn't control, like her father's mysterious illness, was painful…but nothing compared to the gut-wrenching feeling of knowing that he was the one who made her cry. And he had a bad feeling that this time, he was the catalyst.

"Blair?" Chuck asked. "What's wrong?"

She collected herself enough to look up at him. Another tear escaped but clung stubbornly to her lashes.

"I don't want to choose," she said, so softly that he almost couldn't hear.

Chuck shook his head in confusion. "Choose…?"

"Choose between my fiancé and…whatever physical attraction I obviously still feel for you." She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been elated at her admission that she felt something for him. But when Blair Waldorf cried, he was forced to admit defeat. He hated seeing her tears, hated knowing that he had somehow caused them. _How can I stop her tears?_ was the only thought his mind could handle at the moment – everything else was swept under the rug.

"Blair, I –"

"I love him, Chuck," Blair said, cutting him off. She wiped away the wetness on her cheeks and took a deep breath. "I _love_ _him_. He…fixed me when I didn't know I was still broken. He is the only person in the world who knows me better than you do."

Chuck opened his mouth to disagree, but Blair ignored him.

"Before you put in any more effort to pursue me, Chuck…I chose a life with him. And no matter what you say or do, I will choose _him _over _you_."

And there it was: the only phrase that could derail him.

Because these words had no subtext. Desperation laced every syllable that fell from her lips, but it was not a plea for him to save her from her choice, but rather for him to leave her in peace.

"I know that's not what you _wanted_ to hear," she continued, shifting on her feet. "But you needed to hear it."

His heart was slamming against the walls of his chest. He took a step towards her. "You can't be serious."

Blair shook her head. "I am. And I'm sorry. Maybe we can –"

"Stay friends?" Chuck sneered.

Her smile was sad. "Yes," she answered.

"How can you expect us to be friends when I'm in love with you?" he countered, taking hold of her arms. "Don't ask me to go through the hell of seeing you married to another man. I won't do it. I _can't _do it."

"I just…thought it would be the better alternative," she replied.

He scoffed. "There's something worse?"

"Of course," she said. "I could tell Nicolas I changed my mind about New York, and we'd be gone in a week. You'd never have to see me again. But if you love me like you say you do…then you'll take my offer of friendship. It's the only thing I can give you."

He released her shoulders and watched as she stood straighter. Resolved.

"You'd really leave New York again?" he said in a soft voice. "But it's your home."

Blair shook her head and sidestepped around him, walking towards the door of her suite. "New York isn't my home anymore, Chuck," she said. "My parents live in Paris now and I've. Nate and Serena are my only friends left on the Upper East Side."

Her words stung him, but he made no show of it. "Your only friends?" he repeated.

"I've lived in Paris for the last five years," she said slowly, as if that should explain everything to him.

As if she expected him to say, "Of course," and retreat from the room, never to question her again.

Chuck stood still and tightened his jaw. She was treating him like a child, feeding him bullshit with each word she spoke. How could she want to remain friends with him, but not even count him _among_ her friends? How could she possibly consider France her home when she had always dreamed of reigning as Queen of the entire Upper East Side?

"You've changed," he stated.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Blair replied immediately.

"It's not," Chuck said. "You're not Blair Waldorf anymore. You're not the girl I grew up and plotted with."

He could read the shift in her demeanor before she spoke; she was annoyed with him now. "Well, you're right," she spat. "I'm a _woman_. A woman who won't let anyone think they _own_ her."

"You are most definitely a woman now," Chuck agreed, ignoring her scathing tone. "And you're right: no one owns you. But what you're doing now is worse than allowing yourself to be owned: you've been running away all this time. Since you left for Paris with Serena, you've been trying to escape. That's how you've changed. The Blair Waldorf I knew would never do what I did…she'd never run away."

_Because…I love you._

_Well, that's too bad._

Blair opened her mouth and shut it. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally, lifting her chin in defiance.

"Oh, I think you do," he said, taking a step towards her. She backed up until she hit the door, cornered by his predatory body language. "You can't bullshit me, Blair. I've done the same things to escape pain. You may have changed, but I still know you. You're lying to me right now…and you're lying to yourself."

The words stuck in Blair's throat. She remembered arriving in Paris after finding out about Chuck and Jenny, devastated and alone, despite Serena's presence. She'd lost herself in a haze of alcohol for days, then slept well into the afternoon for at least a week after that. When she finally found herself wandering among the shelves of the library nearby, she knew that it was hopeless. She would never get over the pain of what Chuck did to her.

He was right, she _did_ run away. She ran like he did when his life came crashing down around him. It was almost as if she thought behaving like Chuck would bring him back somehow.

She closed her eyes as she remembered the pain he'd brought her, taking a few breaths to steel herself. As usual, his guesses hit much too close to home.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Chuck asked, taking a step towards her.

"You need to leave," Blair said instantly, her tone more resolute than she expected. "Now."

Chuck backpedaled. "Blair, wait a minute –"

"Please," she said firmly, opening her eyes. "Just go. I don't want you here anymore."

"No," he begged. "Hold on, I didn't mean –"

Blair threw out her hands and pushed him backwards, far enough away so that she could open the door she was leaning against. She it open for him and motioned for him to go.

"Chuck, really," she said. "I'm asking you to leave now…before I call security."

Chuck opened his mouth to argue with her, but the look on her face made him think twice. She was resolved, yes…but sad. Hurt. And he knew that a hurt Blair Waldorf wasn't someone he wanted to push his luck with, especially when he needed to make sure she didn't walk out of his life forever.

Defeated, he gave her a parting nod and brushed past her. He was barely out of the door when she slammed it shut behind him.

* * *

><p>The next few days passed quickly for both of them.<p>

Blair busied herself with her work, more desperate than ever to get back to the States and Nicolas. She longed for their uncomplicated relationship and the level of complete comfort they had with each other. She missed the way he admired her body while she dressed and the way he insisted that he make breakfast on Sundays, feeding her blueberries as he mixed pancake batter. Blair caught herself wondering on several occasions if her relationship would suffer…now that she had admitted to herself that she wanted Chuck.

Chuck abstained from drinking for possibly the first time in his adult life, allowing him to be more productive with his time during the day. He lunched with a few colleagues and scouted some potential acquisitions for Bass Industries. He strolled along the tourist-filled Parisian streets and picked up a few things for his wardrobe. Chuck had a soft spot for French fashion. In the evenings, he stood out on his balcony and watched the sun set and the Eiffel Tower light up, all bright and flashy, and he realized he missed New York City.

Waiting for Blair to come around _seemed_ like a good idea when she kicked him out of her hotel room days ago. Hell, it still seemed like a good idea…and he was willing to wait for her forever. But he couldn't stay away from Bass for too long, especially since there wasn't any company business left in Paris for him to attend to now. But he needed to see her one last time before he left.

Just one more visit with her to plead, to fight, to beg, _anything_…but mostly, he needed to apologize.

With a smile, he recalled how difficult it used to be for him to express remorse of any kind. It used to be that he had trouble expressing feelings of any kind, except spite or pride. But he had changed – he was _still_ changing – and not for the first time, he acknowledged that it was the result of having Blair in his life.

* * *

><p>When Chuck stood outside Blair's hotel room four days after she kicked him out, he wasn't drunk.<p>

The past few nights were a bit sleepless (which accounted for the dark circles under his eyes), but he hadn't poured as much as a finger of his favorite vice in days.

Instead, he thought endlessly about the (guilty) way she looked as she shut the door between them and realized how irrational he was acting.

He understood why she wasn't more receptive to him: she believed that her feelings for Faria were real. And it didn't matter if it was real love or not; she had convinced herself of it, and so it was. He could shake her and throw tumblers of scotch against gilded mirrors and howl that she wasn't really in love with Nicolas until he took his dying breath, but she'd never waver in her convictions.

He would never get her back if he continued to behave like a territorial beast (because, truth be told, he knew that was exactly how he was acting).

So he poured his once-customary nightcap around midnight, dipped his fingers in the amber liquid, then wiped the wetness off on his suit and across his jaw. He took a conservative swig from the bottle to ensure that the smell would be on his breath, then called the front desk to summon a car.

When he arrived outside her hotel room ten minutes later, he tugged at his shirt so that half hung out of his pants, tousled his hair, and adopted a blank stare.

With a deep breath, he rapped on the door.

He knew his "drunken" apologies tonight wouldn't be taken seriously, but he'd already be in her hotel suite waiting for her when she awoke the next morning. Then he could speak to her properly, reiterate what he had said the night before, and then _maybe _she would believe him.

It was a long shot, but maybe she would give him a second a chance.

When Chuck stood outside Blair's hotel room four days after she kicked him out, he wasn't drunk. …but for the first time in his life, he was thankful for his adolescent indulgences. Otherwise, he never would have been able to play intoxicated so convincingly.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry," he confessed when she pulled the door open.<p>

He stood hunched over in the doorway, with a hand grasping the doorframe next to his head. The dark circles under his eyes and the stubble on his jaw made him look ten years older. It was obvious that sleep had been eluding him for days.

"Chuck," Blair said with a frown. "Have you slept at all? You look like you've been up for days."

It had been a long time since she had seen him look so bad. She wanted to put a gentle hand on his shoulder but stifled the urge. Even a comforting gesture could be misconstrued, and she wasn't sure what his motives were for showing up at her door at midnight.

Plus, she was still reeling from their kiss days ago…in that very room.

"I'm so sorry, Blair," he continued, glossing over her concern. "I've treated you terribly. I haven't given any thought to your feelings…just assumed I could claim you…"

Then his head bobbed a little, and she realized he was drunk.

_He's certainly gotten better at hiding it, _she thought.

"Come inside," she said sternly, grabbing him by his arm and tugging him into her suite. "You can sleep this off on the couch. I don't want you outside playing in traffic."

She prodded him towards the couch and made him sit down, her nose wrinkling at the strong smell of scotch on his breath and his clothes. With practiced ease, she removed his jacket and started working on his shoes, then discarded his socks.

"Slow down, Waldorf," he slurred. "I'd like to wake up tomorrow morning with my innocence intact."

Blair gave him a wry look. "I think you lost that years ago, Bass," she teased. "Around the time most of the kids our age were playing tag around a sand box."

"I was thirteen," he corrected, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Of course," Blair snorted. "Georgina Sparks. I'm so glad she finally got caught up in the wrong scheme…thank God for the Witness Protection Program. Now we'll never be forced to see her again."

When she glanced up at Chuck, she saw that his arms were clasped limply behind his head. He had unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and a tiny bit of hair was peeking out, making her want to rake her fingernails down his chest.

"And…now I'm ready for bed, so good night," she finished quickly, standing up and hurrying towards her bedroom door.

"Wait," he called, pushing himself up and supporting his weight with his arms. "His voice was thick with inebriation and some of his words were stringing together. "You didn't let me finish."

Blair gave a heavy sigh. "Bass, go to sleep. You're drunk, and therefore it doesn't matter."

"I know," he conceded. "But it doesn't make what I'm saying less true."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine. You've got one minute."

"I'm so sorry, Blair," he said earnestly. "I told you that I've changed, but I haven't really…_proved_ it. I know you're in love with _him –_" the word was sneered "– but I also know that you still love me. You feel more than lust for me, even if it's just a…a little bit."

Blair couldn't move.

"I know you do," he continued. "Because despite what I said earlier, you still act the same around me…the same way you did when we were 16, when you denied how much you cared about me because of your reputation as Queen.

"And contrary to what you probably think…I'm not trying to take you against your will. If you _really _don't want me, then I'm not interested in forcing you. I want you to be _willing_. I want you to _love_ me. I want…everything from you, Blair. And I want you to have everything from me."

She felt her eyes watering at his words, knowing that he meant them. Even if he was wasted.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," she said softly, not trusting her voice to speak any louder. She was already fighting to keep her emotions straight.

"I don't expect you to say anything right now," he replied, his eyelids drooping. "But don't keep me waiting forever. I've already lost five years with you."

And with that, his eyes shut and his breathing grew heavy.

Chuck had fallen asleep on the couch in her suite and left Blair alone with her thoughts. Quietly, she turned and retreated to her room, shutting the door and locking it behind her. She may be nice, letting him sleep there…but she sure as hell didn't trust a drunk Chuck Bass on her couch without a locked door separating them.

* * *

><p>When Chuck awoke the next morning, Blair was already gone.<p>

"What the fuck…?" he mumbled, staring at the open door to Blair's room. He glanced at his watch and groaned at the time – just after 7am. Where could she have to be this early in the morning? And why hadn't he heard her leave?

He sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes, cursing himself for sleeping through her departure. If he hadn't been so sleep deprived, he would have stayed up all night to ensure he caught her in the morning.

A knock came at the door, and his excitement at the thought of her propelled him to his feet.

_Blair!_

"Room service," came the heavily accented English from behind the door.

Groaning, Chuck walked to the door and opened it, beckoning for the man to enter with his delivery. After his breakfast had been laid out on the small dining table, Chuck reached for his phone. _No messages._

There was, however, a scrap of paper folded on the rim of his coffee cup. The small flurry of words across it read:

_You'll be gone when I get back, so have a nice flight back to the city. Enjoy your breakfast. _–_B_

The note crumpled in his clenched fist. He called his hotel to have them bring some fresh clothes and his toiletries for him as he ate; he didn't have much experience with apologies, but he was certain that they were more likely to be taken seriously if hygiene wasn't an issue.

But he wasn't about to leave Blair's hotel room, not when he had gone to all the trouble of pretending he was drunk so she'd let him in.

No. No matter what she said when she returned, he wouldn't leave.

* * *

><p><em>Special thanks to <em>**ivorykeys09**_, who puts up with my insane writing session goals and is just the best. Seriously.  
><em>

_Thank you to my superamazingwonderful_ _reviewers: tinamarie333, ivorykeys09, Krazy4Spike, 88Mary88, Maryam25, Temp02, LeftWriter224, KillerNewton, TriGemini, CBALWAYS (thanks! :)), & TerraBeth.__ I love hearing everything you all have to say. And to those who added alerts: you're all awesome, too. :)  
><em>


	10. Bolero

**A/N: This chapter is part 4 of 4.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Bass!"<em>

"_Yes, Waldorf?"_

"_Well? What are you still doing here? I ordered breakfast this morning so you could nurse your hangover and leave. Not that you _deserved_ breakfast, after what you did."_

"_Thank you for that. For breakfast, I mean. Not for the rather demanding note I found _attached to my coffee_, instructing me to vacate your room before you returned."_

"_And yet, _here_ you are."_

"_Here I am. I wanted to show my gratitude for your…hospitality last night –"_

"_I never should have let you in to begin with."_

"_Blair, about last night –"_

"_No. You've gone _too far_ this time, Bass."_

Chuck rose from the couch. "Gone too far with _what_, Blair? What did I do now?"

"Shut up, you know _exactly_ what you did," Blair snapped. "You won't be happy until you've destroyed my relationship with Nicolas completely, will you? Well, I've got news for you, Basshole: even if you were the only man left alive on this planet, I wouldn't give you a moment of my time."

"That's wildly unrealistic," he pointed out.

"_Please_ leave?"

"No."

"Okay, Bass, " Blair said, crossing her arms. "Fine. If you're not going to leave, then you can tell me why my fiancé had a meeting with _Jenny Humphrey_."

_Faria had actually met with Little J?_ Chuck thought. _God dammit, he must have set something up with her after I left his office. Stay calm, Bass. She'll be able to smell your fear._

"What do your fiancé's meetings have to do with me?" he asked.

"_Don't_ lie to me," Blair countered, nearly stamping her foot. "I may not have seen you for five years, but I grew up with you. We staged a good amount of take-downs in our time. I know when you've had your hand in something…and this _reeks_ of Chuck Bass!"

"What are you saying?"

"Nicolas called me," she replied curtly. "He told me that he spoke with Jenny Humphrey about her ideas for a fall clothing line, and she said she knew me. He said she told him to tell me _thank you_."

_So Nicolas _did_ have a meeting with Jenny, _Chuck thought. _Interesting._

"Why would she say that, Chuck?" Blair demanded.

"Your engagement is public knowledge, Blair," Chuck retorted. "You just hosted a party for half of New York society! In case you've forgotten your guest list, most of the Humphreys were in attendance."

"But she had a meeting with _my_ _fiancé _–"

"Stop saying that word," Chuck growled.

"– of all the owners of designer firms in New York City!"

"And so you thought…what, exactly?" Chuck questioned hotly. "That I set up a meeting between Nicolas and Jenny even though I know how much you hate her? Or maybe you thought that I devised a plot to get the two of them together in a room so that she would _seduce_ him? Do any of those scenarios sound plausible _at all_?"

"No!" Blair cried. "I mean…yes, they are really far-fetched. But you're _Chuck Bass!_ You stoop to unbelievably low levels to get what you want, and you don't mind using pawns. No matter _who _they are."

"I want _you_, Blair!" he shouted, exasperated. "I'd be mad to think that _directly _involving Jenny in any scheme I came up with to get you back would work out in my favor."

"Then why, of all the designers in New York, did my fiancé pick her to meet with?" she repeated.

Chuck shrugged, at a loss. "I don't know, but I didn't arrange it. I wouldn't intentionally cause you that kind of pain."

Blair glared at him, trying to ferret out any sincerity in his words. She knew he was telling the truth…but admitting that meant that she would be on equal footing with him again, and it was much easier for to hate him.

"I'm sorry. I just can't believe you," Blair lied. "I recall more than a few times that you've willfully hurt me."

Chuck winced at the memories she alluded to. Threatening to tell Nate about her lost virginity, revealing her pregnancy scare to Gossip Girl and tossing her aside in its wake, the Empire fiasco with Jack, sleeping with Jenny…though the last two were different. He hadn't _meant_ to hurt her then.

"That's all in the past. It's been five years. I'm much…different now."

"Really, Chuck?" Blair spit. "Because ever since I came back from Paris, you've done nothing but scheme to get me back. Involving Jenny seems like the next logical step to get my attention."

Chuck's mind raced. How could he prove to her that Jenny wasn't his doing? He wanted to grab her by the arms and shake some sense into her.

"Blair," he said desperately, reaching out to grab her arm as she turned away. "Alright, I _did_ set up a meeting with Nicolas under Jenny Humphrey's name."

Blair's eyes blazed and her mouth flew open, ready to spew insults at him.

"Wait," he insisted, lifting a hand in emphasis. "It was only so that I could meet with him myself, to convince him to let me buy out his brand."

"To buy his…?" Blair repeated softly, staring at Chuck like he'd grown a third head.

"He didn't let me, of course," Chuck continued, sounding slightly annoyed. "But that meeting was the day after you arrived in Paris. When did he say he met with Jenny?"

Blair shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to process Chuck's words, to separate fact from fiction. "I…I'm not sure…"

"When?" Chuck pressed.

"I don't know!" she exploded. "I think it was a couple days ago."

"There!" Chuck exclaimed, smiling as if the problem was completely resolved. "That proves it. I had nothing to do with Jenny."

Blair scoffed at his excitement. "Are you kidding? That doesn't prove anything at all. In fact, you've just made it worse, since I had no idea you met with him."

Chuck seized the opportunity she had just handed him. "He didn't tell you?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But don't think for a second that that means something, Bass. He probably just didn't want to upset me."

Chuck shot her a look that told her he didn't buy what she was trying to sell him.

"Shut up," she snapped. "I'm sure that's the reason he didn't say anything. _He_ thinks about my feelings, unlike _you_."

"That's because I already know what you're feeling," Chuck corrected. "You feel the same things I do…we're cut from the same cloth."

"Ugh," she groaned. "Stop saying that! We may have been the same a long time ago, but we're not anymore. I grew out of you and you're still stuck on a teenage romance. Stop living in the past."

He stared at her, chest heaving and teeth clenched so tightly it hurt. Living in the past? She was, and would always be, the only woman he was capable of loving completely. No amount of time would change that.

"Blair." His voice was hard and determined. "What is it going to take for you to see that nothing, not even the fact that you have a fiancé, will deter me from winning you back?"

"Chuck, I don't _want_ to be 'won back'!" she cried in frustration. "_Jesus_, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

He shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. "You're so blind. You think just because this man loves you and you…love_…_him, that you're guaranteed some fairy tale ending. You think he'll be enough for you –"

"He will," she interjected, then amended her statement. "He is."

"He obviously _isn't_ giving you everything you need," Chuck insisted. "Why else would you be so eager to leave him for two weeks?"

"I wasn't _eager_," Blair retorted. "This is for work and Nicolas understands that. He knows that my job is important to me."

Chuck studied her for a moment, searching for the lie in her voice. When he couldn't detect anything other than truth, he decided to try a different tactic. "Why are you so upset about Jenny?"

Blair lifted her chin. "Because I hate her. That's all the reason I need."

"Are you forgetting anything else?"

"No," she said, crossing her arms like a stubborn child.

"Blair, it's been five years. You've been living in Paris this whole time and your banishment of Jenny has never been lifted."

"And your point is…what? She crossed me. Several times, actually."

"Exactly."

"I don't follow," she replied, shaking her head at him. "I can't have disloyal subjects, Chuck. A queen has to punish those that commit crimes, especially the poor social climbing ones from Brooklyn. She's the Mary of Scots to my Elizabeth! "

Chuck smirked at the frantic note in her words; he was prepared for a response like that. He leaned casually against the table behind him and set his jaw.

"Blair," he began. "You haven't been a queen in a long time, and she doesn't want your crown. From what I understand, she's too absorbed in her little fashion dramas to worry about destroying your life. I've explained to you that my…involvement in the events of last week was purely coincidental, and I've made you aware of the fact that little Humphrey wants nothing to do with you. I know you don't _really _think Jenny was out for your blood again."

He took a few steps towards her and dipped his head to meet her lowered gaze.

"So," he said in a soft voice. "Would you like to tell me the real reason you're so upset about Jenny?"

Blair didn't respond for a moment. Chuck worried that he had pushed her too far or spoken of Jenny too much. Even Blair had limits, and he was trying her patience by asking her a question he already knew the answer to. There were much more important things he could be discussing with her.

But then she took a deep breath and spoke.

"She took you from me," Blair blurted, speaking as if the words pained her and she wanted them out as quickly as possible. "From the moment Jenny Humphrey came into our world, she wanted to _be_ me. She lied to me to get to Nate, she tried to dethrone me as queen and undermined me as often as she could, and she told Nate about you and I sleeping together…"

A shadow passed over her features.

"But then you _slept _with her," she continued, her voice souring. "And then she had everything that was supposed to be mine: my crown, the Upper East Side life, and the person I loved more than anything in the world.

"It destroyed me, Chuck," she said softly. "It destroyed me and you know it. I never thought I would recover from that. And even though you and I are…done, that doesn't change the fact that I will never forget the horrible things she did to me."

"Have you forgiven me?"

"Of course," she said, shrugging. "It was easier for me to forgive you than her. I don't know why…but I guess that's what love does. It helps you look past the things that we do to hurt each other."

"Blair –"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I forgave you a long time ago. Let's leave it at that, since you'll just be upset if I have to explain – _again_ – how Nicolas made my life better."

"Yes, let's not delve into that," he agreed. "And thank you…for forgiving me. I know I don't really deserve it, but I appreciate it more than you know."

Blair eyed him skeptically, ready to pounce if she detected the slightest bit on insincerity. But he looked contrite, and she found herself softening. She _believed_ him.

She smiled coyly at him. "Yes, well, it takes more than even you to destroy Blair Waldorf."

"You're right about that," he said, returning her smile.

"So," she probed, watching as he turned away and walked towards her couch. "You weren't really drunk last night, were you?"

He sat down lazily and didn't answer her, but she recognized the glint in his eye.

"I should have known," she laughed. "You weren't nearly as lecherous as you usually are. Or as charming, for that matter."

"I'm always charming," Chuck protested, making a show of crossing his legs and throwing his arm across the back of the couch.

"Of course you are," Blair teased, sitting on the chair opposite him.

A few moments of companionable silence stretched between them. He toyed with the cufflinks on his shirt sleeves while Blair regarded him with curiosity. It was a bizarre experience, she mused, sitting in the same room without screaming at him about something. It reminded her of the way they were before things spiraled out of control.

Oh, their relationship had always _thrilled_ her – their dramatic fighting that invariably led to incredible sex on the nearest surface, the way their minds worked on the same wavelength, the comfort of knowing how perfectly they were made for each other…it was intoxicating. It was exciting.

But now…it scared her. She wasn't 17 anymore and she had different priorities. Priorities that didn't – _couldn't_ – include Chuck.

"You know that this can't happen, right?"

"What?" Chuck asked. "We can't enjoy each other's company?"

"You know what I mean," she said, her voice soft. She looked down at her hands and twisted her engagement ring.

The smile faded from Chuck's mouth as he realized the time for joking had passed. She was going to put a stop to them once and for all now, finally gaining the upper hand by terminating things on her own terms.

_So this is it,_ he thought. _The end of the road._

He took a deep breath and wished he could find a way to stop the inevitable. But as the moments ticked by and nothing came to him, he realized that there was only one option available to him: she was offering him a way to stay in her life without scheming or manipulating.

His instincts screamed at him: _Take it. Take it. _

"I understand," he said, voice calm and resolute.

Blair's gaze shot up to meet his. "You do?"

Chuck nodded. "I do," he answered.

"And you're…okay with it?" Her tone was incredulous. She was obviously expecting more of a fight from him. "You're okay with being just friends?"

"I wouldn't say that I'm _okay_ with it," he replied. "But being your friend may be the only way to stay in your life. And Blair…I don't ever want to be out of your life again."

Blair couldn't help it. He looked so sincere and he sounded incredibly _tired_ – tired of the games? Tired of her rejecting him? Did it even matter? – that her nose began tingling, alerting her to impending tears.

"And if never losing you means being your friend, I'll take it," Chuck continued. "You're too important to me."

Blair smiled and reached for his hand. She rubbed her thumb across his skin, ignoring the familiar burning at the contact. "Thank you, Chuck," she said. "I'm glad you feel that way. After everything we've been through…I would have hated to lose your friendship, too."

As a smile played at the corners of his mouth, she felt her stomach tighten into knots.

* * *

><p>Blair turned in her final assignment to her editor the next day. Since she wasn't due to fly back to the city until the following afternoon, she called her mother and asked if they could meet for lunch.<p>

Less than an hour later, the two women were seated at a table in the center of the dining room of_ Le Royal Monceau_. Their waiter presented the bottle of wine Eleanor had ordered before Blair arrived and poured both women a glass.

"It's to die for," Eleanor gushed after she took a sip.

"Mother, what has gotten into you?" Blair asked, her voice low.

Her mother winked conspiratorially at her. "Can't a mother be excited to see her only daughter?" she said.

"Yes," Blair responded, lifting the wine to her lips. "But I think you have a particular reason for being so…_giddy_."

Eleanor smiled. "I have a gift for you."

Blair lit up as her mother reached down by her feet and produced a large portfolio. She cleared a space on the table and opened it to the first page, displaying a beautiful wedding dress.

"For you," she said proudly. "For my darling girl, on the most _important_ day of her life."

It was a beautiful thing: strapless with thin fabric draped elegantly across the model's breasts, a moderately long train, and a thick skirt. The back of the gown was layered with silk, contrasting pleasantly with the form-fitting bodice. Here and there, bold splashes of elegant beading appeared and then faded underneath the layers of fabric.

But a smaller sketch of the model from the hips up displayed the pièce de résistance: the material from the bodice met the fabric from the train at the small of her back, where a perfect bow rested. The backless choice was admittedly bold – if it descended just a few inches lower, it would have been inappropriate – but the entire Eleanor Waldorf original was equal parts daring and demure.

It was perfect.

"Mother, it's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen," Blair said, knowing that her words could never do her emotions justice.

"You don't mind wearing something your mother designed?" Eleanor teased.

"Oh, Mother," Blair exclaimed. "I would have been disappointed if you didn't design it!"

Eleanor held out her arms and her daughter fell into them, suddenly feeling lighter and happier than she had in days. When she pulled away, she saw tears in her mother's eyes.

"I can't believe you're finally getting married," Eleanor explained. "You're going to look incredible."

"Mother, we went through this last year. Please don't start crying again."

"I won't," Eleanor assured her, dabbing the corner of her eye with her napkin. "I promise. Not until I actually see you walking down the aisle." She shot Blair a pointed look, as if to say, _You had better make it down the aisle this time._

"When should I come back for the fitting?" Blair asked, smiling eagerly.

"You don't need to, dear," her mother answered. "I already have the material and the form for the dress, and Laurel will be in touch with you to get measurements next week. I'll be flying in a few days before the wedding to do the last-minute alterations."

"Isn't a few days a little…late for a last-minute fitting?" Blair questioned.

"Blair, that is the very definition of 'last-minute alterations.' I want this dress to fit you like a glove," Eleanor replied as reached down towards the floor again, this time producing a small box. "Now, one more gift, then lunch should be arriving. I saw this and thought of you immediately."

Blair attacked the wrapping paper. When the paper fell aside and she read the writing on the box inside, she let out a squeak of surprise and nearly flung it to the floor.

"Darling, is something wrong?" Eleanor asked. "I know it's what you wore at one time; I always thought it was the loveliest smell…"

Eleanor continued to talk, but her words were drowned out by Blair's pulse pounding in her head. She stared at the package in her hands and felt her earlier happiness draining out of her body.

In her hands was a pure white box with gold lettering shining up at her:

_J'adore._

* * *

><p><em><strong>MEANWHILE<strong>_

Nicolas opened the door to the apartment he and Blair had purchased and was instantly excited. As he walked through the foyer and to the living room, he was pleased to see that most of their things were already in place. The interior designer had added a few pieces and bursts of colors here and there of course, but there was a new piece in the center of the room – a white chaise lounge – that had Blair's taste written all over it.

He loved watching her face light up when she spied something she liked. It reminded him of the first time he saw her reading _Wuthering Heights_ intently at the café in Paris, her light breakfast sitting virtually untouched in front of her. Nicolas had never seen a face etched with such intensity and vulnerability before, and he remembered thinking that she must have identified with something in the novel.

But he'd cast that thought aside with a laugh. She couldn't possibly have anything in common with that novel – it was too dark and twisted for someone so beautiful…someone who looked like she deserved all the warmth and sunshine and love in the world.

As he wandered down the hallway towards their future bedroom, he realized he was frowning. Blair's daily phone calls and texts since she'd been in Paris were invading his thoughts again.

She was thrilled when she told him about her assignment – "I know it's only been a few weeks, but I miss brunches at the vineyard with Daddy and Roman," she'd confessed – but after a few days she sounded exhausted. She brushed off his concerns lightly, explaining that she had more work than she anticipated, but he was worried about her. When he suggested that he fly there to join her for a few days, she insisted that she was fine.

He hadn't known Blair at all when he saw her reading at that café, but now he knew her like the back of his hand…and he knew something strange was going on with her. He was also well acquainted with her stubbornness; there wouldn't be any way to wring anything out of her until she was back in the States again.

So instead of spending his time worrying, he shrugged it off and focused on the task at hand: surprising his future bride by having their apartment completely set up by the time she got home. It would be a "welcome home" gift she was sure to appreciate – and since Alena was helping, he wouldn't have an opportunity to mess anything up. He tasked himself with arranging things the way he knew Blair liked.

The giant master bathroom took him over an hour to organize. _(I'm sure Blair just isn't fully aware of how much bubble bath/hair product/perfume she owns, _he reasoned when the bottom of a box he was moving split open.)

He spent another hour on Blair's "dressing room." _("Of _course_ I need a dressing room, Nicolas," she'd told him firmly while he rolled his eyes. "And no, dressing rooms are not antiquated!")_

He refrained from sending her a nasty text when it took almost half an hour to sort out the next nightmare he encountered: a box filled with stacks of books. _("Books 4 Nightstand," the box read. "MUST be alphabetized.")_

But when he looked at the items for her closet, he nearly passed out. Nicolas knew that Blair owned a ridiculous amount of clothes and shoes since he'd purchased most of them for her, but the pile before him was just obscene.

"_Mon dieu,_" he groaned, cursing himself for giving Dorota the day off.

He tackled her shoes first (arranging them by color as she always had) then moved on to her lingerie (for which Blair had specifically requested a floor-to-ceiling cabinet in her closet). He chose a tall stack of hat boxes in various shapes, knowing that Blair had kept some of her lingerie in them. But he misjudged the weight of the small hat box that rested on top and tugged too lightly, causing it to drag the boxes underneath it forward and onto the floor.

He mumbled a curse and bent to retrieve the items that had spilled from the boxes, stopping when he noticed a flash of gold resting against a stack of note cards. When he plucked the gold object from its resting place and examined it, he smiled – between his fingers was a tiny heart pin. After making a mental note to put the pin in her jewelry box later, his eyes fell to the stack of envelopes the pin had been lying against.

They were wrapped in a crimson silk ribbon and looked virtually untouched, with just one letter – B – written with a flourish on the front of the exposed envelope.

Nicolas reached for them, knowing he shouldn't, somehow knowing that whatever was in those envelopes would break his heart. Dread swept through his body as he untied the ribbon; his fingers trembled as he pulled the heavy embossed paper from the top envelope. He pushed his gaze across the elegant handwriting on the small card with a peculiar curiosity, unable to look away. He remained impassive as he slipped the card back into the envelope a moment later, wrapping the red ribbon carefully around them.

He had to assume that the reason Blair hid the notes was because she believed he'd never find them; she would have destroyed them otherwise. But what bothered him was the fact that she _had_ hidden them instead of throwing them out. It seemed to him that maybe she wasn't willing to let go of them. What if something had changed for her? What if she was connecting with Bass again?

He forced himself to push thoughts of infidelity aside. There was nothing to worry about; Blair loved him and they were getting married in less than three months.

Alena called his name from somewhere in the hallway – her voice and _click-clacking_ of her high-heeled shoes bounced loudly off the walls – and Nicolas panicked. He shoved the bundle of notes into the pocket of his jacket that was draped over the bed and stood, snatching up the closest box of garters just in time to see the bedroom door being pushed open.

The interior designer threw a quick glance around the room. "Still sorting through Blair's closet, I see?" she joked.

"Yes," Nicolas replied, relieved that Alena obviously hadn't caught him stowing the notes into his jacket. "It's…quite a challenge."

Alena smiled. "I imagine. The Waldorf women don't live simply."

"No, they certainly don't," Nicolas agreed, casting a sideways glance at the boxes he had yet to open.

"Would you like a break?" Alena suggested. "I was just about to order lunch. The sitting room is finished and we could go over the finalized plans for your office while we eat, if you'd like."

Nicolas' eyes darted to his jacket and the same grotesque curiosity overwhelmed him as it did before. "I'm sorry," he said. "I want to make sure this is done by the end of the day. When Blair says she'll be gone for two weeks, she really means ten days. It wouldn't do to not have the surprise finished when she comes home early."

Alena nodded with an understanding smile and left the room, closing the door behind her.

His intention had been to tear the rest of the notes free from their envelopes, absorbing every word and reading between the lines to find out the truth – was Blair keeping these from him to spare him the pain he was feeling now? Had she kept them because she still harbored feelings for Chuck Bass?

He furrowed his brow at the thought. He was probably overanalyzing the situation. Blair obviously had a good reason for stashing the notes out of sight, and he would give her a chance to explain herself. In the meantime, he would finish the daunting task of organizing her closet.

But suddenly, the excitement of surprising his fiancée tasted bitter on his tongue.

* * *

><p><strong>Ivorykeys09<strong>_: thanks for slapping me around when I over-think things. And for making the editing process much less painful! :)_

_And of course...thank you, readers! KillerNewton, TriGemini, LeftWriter224, Aliennut, Rf (thank you!), Temp02, Krazy4Spike, SaNaa.91, MegamiTenchi, and Trosev, thanks for taking the time to review. Your opinions mean the world to me :)_

__This chapter puts us at about halfway through my story outline, so **lots** more to come! _I hope everyone is still along for the ride (and enjoying it)! _


	11. Time

_Blair had never been happier to ride first-class in her life; being the first one off the plane meant she would be home that much faster. She rushed from her seat to the jet way, down the hall and to the arrivals gate, hoping Nicolas would be there waiting for her. Any delay in seeing him would surely bring tears. _

_The gate was congested and noisy. Blair turned up her nose at the smell of a group of travelers as she hurried past, her eyes darting around in search of her fiancé._

_Where was he?_

_The crowd parted for an instant in just the right place, and she glimpsed his tall, lean figure. His back was to her but his posture gave him away – hands tucked into his trouser pockets, head cocked slightly to one side, weight resting on his left leg. She nearly cried out in joy as she raced towards him._

"_Nicolas!"_

_He turned at the sound of his name; cold eyes made her skid to a halt in front of him._

"_Nicolas?" she asked. "What…what's wrong?"_

_His green eyes blazed with anger. "Why did you do it, Blair?"_

"_Do what –"_

"_Don't play dumb!" Nicolas roared. "I know that you whored yourself out in Paris."_

_Blair winced. So this was it. He knew what she'd done and he wasn't going to give her a chance to explain herself. She glanced at the people milling around, hoping that his outburst hadn't caused a scene._

_But to her horror, everyone in the terminal had turned to face them and were now holding up their cell phones to take pictures of the scene. Or worse, she thought, to videotape it._

"_Nicolas, please," Blair begged. "Everyone is staring. Let's talk about this when we get home, okay? Or in the car on the way. But not here…not when everyone is watching us."_

"_So it's too much to fight in an airport," he sneered. "But it's not too much to sleep with your ex when we're weeks away from getting married?"_

"_I didn't!" she cried. "I would never do that to you, I promise. I love you!"_

_Nicolas let out a peal of vicious laughter. "I bet you told him that same thing when you were on your knees, begging him to fuck you. Weren't you?"_

_Blair gaped at him, unable to speak or defend herself. Nicolas made a disgusted noise before he turned and made his way to the airport exit. She was too unprepared for his attack and she'd never heard him speak that way before. She couldn't move, couldn't do anything but watch him leave her. She was helpless. _

_Then the crowd began to move in closer to her, still holding their cell phones up, each of their mouths laughing with Nicolas's voice._

Blair opened her eyes with a gasp.

"Ma'am?" a gentle voice prodded. Blair looked up and saw the first-class stewardess smiling down at her. "We'll be landing in a few minutes. The captain has asked that everyone put their seat belts on now."

"Oh," Blair said. "Thank you."

Once her seatbelt had been clicked in place, she turned to look out the window. She didn't need a dream dictionary to decode what her nightmare was about: she was feeling _very _guilty. Well…perhaps that was an understatement.

She saw _him _everywhere now. The pink scarf another passenger wore was the exact color of his lips. A black limo had taken her from her hotel to the airport. On her way into the restaurant she'd met her mother in for lunch, she thought she saw him saunter up to the bar…but when the man turned, he had blue eyes and a goatee. When her mother brought up an intern of hers – _Charles _– Blair had almost spit out the sip of wine she'd just taken. And she swore he was standing behind her when she was washing her face the night before, commenting on how beautiful her skin was.

(Of course, there had been no one, though she was loathe to admit she'd been driven to the point of hallucinations now.)

Simply put, there was no escaping him. _Again._

Not for the first time, she wondered why that was. Of course she'd thought about him in the past few years; she had a bit of a morbid curiosity about his life and what kind of man he turned out to be _(without her)._ But she always tried to suppress thoughts of him, because it still hurt. Her whole body didn't hurt anymore, no…but whenever she heard Serena casually mention him or heard someone call _"Charles!" _on the street, there was a dull throbbing behind her heart. It was like an adrenaline rush but heavier, _deeper_ – and she felt undiluted terror.

Most of the time, it happened when she caught herself thinking about him…when she had been so unconsciously deep in thought about him that she could just _feel _him near her.

Whenever she felt that rush, she couldn't help it: her eyes flew to the nearest reflective surface. Hands smoothed her clothes, fingers tugged nonchalantly at her hair to ensure its best appearance, eyes assessed the state of her lipstick. A few seconds would pass before she allowed herself to breathe, because surely by then he would have already been upon her if he was nearby.

Nicolas had caught her doing it several times since they'd met. She always managed to play it off with a smile or a laugh or sometimes a kiss, he would nod and continue their conversation, and she would promise herself not to let it happen again.

No, she'd never _quite _stopped thinking about him.

The clouds gradually faded into a beautiful blue sky outside the plane. Below, the cold waters of the Atlantic Ocean reflected sunlight across its gentle surface. She spied a cruise ship headed further out to sea, then caught her first glimpse of land. Within half an hour she was stepping through the open door of the plane and striding down the jet way.

"Nicolas!" she squealed when she spotted him, pushing through a swarm of people who were embracing and talking excitedly. Nicolas lifted his chin to give him a better view over the crowd, though he was nearly six feet tall and had already locked eyes with her.

When she drew closer and he didn't move to meet her, she nearly froze._ Is he angry with me?_ She thought. _Did I fall back asleep again? Is this another dream?_

She kept going; she was desperate to feel his comforting arms around her, the way he tucked his chin into the crook of her neck and buried his nose into her hair. She wanted him to kiss all of her doubts about them, Chuck, and _herself_ away and make things go back to normal, before all of the love triangle nonsense muddled her life's plans.

Relocating to New York City from Paris could possibly be the worst mistake she'd ever made, she mused. Her relationship was in jeopardy as it had never been before she and Nicolas had moved. Maybe she'd somehow outgrown the Upper East Side…or maybe it really was evil.

_Where had that thought come from?_ she thought.

But before she could formulate a better theory on the matter, she'd reached him. He held a large bouquet of peonies, roses and hydrangeas – a mix that he generally saved for special occasions. And though he looked quite handsome, he was also slightly disheveled…or perhaps overly tired. Then he smiled, and the tiny lines at the corners of his green eyes crinkled deliciously and made Blair want to kiss him senseless.

"Welcome home," he said, handing her the flowers.

His voice was warm, but his body language set off alarms in her head. Something was wrong, so very wrong; she knew she should stop and make him tell her what was on his mind, but she couldn't hold back. The two weeks she spent in Paris had worn on her heavily, but she didn't grasp how raw she was until she launched herself into his arms.

Nicolas wrapped himself around her. He buried his face into her neck and she smiled rapturously at the familiarity of his embrace. His grip tightened around her and she felt a tug on her heart. Maybe he just missed her…but she had a feeling that something else was amiss.

"Nicolas, what's wrong?" she asked, leaning away from him to look into his eyes.

"Nothing," he replied. "I thought that…maybe…"

Blair watched with concern as he stumbled over his words. He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "Never mind," he said with a smile. "You're home now, _mon amour_. That's all that matters."

"Yes," she agreed. "And I won't be going anywhere anytime soon, I promise. I told Lottie that I couldn't do any more trips until after our honeymoon."

Nicolas sighed heavily at her words, as if she'd lifted a huge weight from his shoulders. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "And I suspect you'll be happy to hear that I have a gift for you."

"Really?" Blair exclaimed. "Is it a gift for coming back a couple of days early?"

Her fiancé chuckled and reached for her hand, bring it to his lips. "Oh, I knew you would be home early," he assured her.

"Then why the gift?"

"I missed you while you were gone," Nicolas explained with a playful wink. "I sat up night after night, wondering how I could show my fiancée how much I missed her when she returned."

Blair managed a smile even though she felt a little sick. Did he know that Chuck had been stalking her around town while he was away on business, that he had followed her to Paris, and that he had kissed her not once, but twice? Was she just imagining the bitterness in his voice, or the edge when he said the word "fiancée"?

_No,_ she chastised herself._ Nicolas wouldn't know about any of this. You're just on edge because you feel guilty, as well you should! You've got a wonderful man who loves you more than his own life, who would do anything for you –_

_So would Chuck,_ said another voice in her head. _He still loves you. You know he does._

_He lost his chance! Chuck is my past…my very distant past. Nicolas is my future. I love him._

She realized that her future was looking at her expectantly during her inner dialog, so she pushed her paranoia away to focus on their conversation. It was a good thing she didn't need to muster any great acting skills to be excited about presents.

"Well? Can I have it now?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

"No, no, _chérie_, you must wait until we get home!" he laughed, and Blair finally relaxed. Nicolas was a terrible liar, unable to fib about the smallest thing without pacing or wringing his hands or just spilling the truth immediately.

_That must mean…he doesn't know!_ Blair thought.

She threw her arms around his neck, bringing his head down to crush her lips against his. He kissed her back greedily and she reveled in the familiarity of the taste of him. When his hands wound through her hair, her legs quivered and she felt a pleasurable tingling throughout her body.

Nicolas loosened his grip on her a minute later and pulled away, his eyes drawn immediately to Blair's parted lips. Her ever-present lip gloss had been thoroughly kissed away, leaving them naked and slightly swollen. Perhaps he'd been a little too enthusiastic, but he couldn't help it: he really had missed her.

The pangs were still there - _jealousy, betrayal, anger, suspicion –_ but they had already been contained. In the hours after his discovery of the notes among Blair's things, he'd gone back and forth about how he would handle it. As far as he could tell, he had three options:

One, he could find Chuck and kill him. But since he was such a well-known figure in the world in general, Nicolas doubted he would be able to get away with it. He'd rot in prison for the rest of his life. _But it would feel damn good_, he'd mused before deciding it was out of the question.

There was always the option of feigning ignorance for the rest of his life. But the thought made him a little sick _– _would he be able to pretend that his suspicions weren't burning holes through his head? Could he ignore the twisting of his heart when he saw Blair interacting with Chuck at family functions (because he wasn't a fool _–_ the van der Woodsens were a second family to Blair, and by extension, Chuck was too) or during the holidays? No, most likely he would drive himself mad within a few months.

That left him with only one alternative: confront Blair and find out the origin of the notes. Obviously it would be much more bearable if they were old (because then they would have been saved for their sentimental value) rather than if they were recent (because then, Nicolas would be back at the Murder-Chuck-Bass-With-His-Bare-Hands plan, and he really disliked the idea of prison).

He'd spent most of the previous day jumping from plan to plan, imagining conversations between himself and Blair and dreaming up creative ways to eliminate his competition. But when he saw Blair step off the arrivals gate, he'd decided his plotting could be postponed. There was plenty of time until the wedding to confront her.

Though Nicolas was bursting with excitement at the sight of her, he'd willed himself to remain stoic. He wanted to see how eager Blair was to be near him. He imagined her running through the terminal and jumping into his arms, wrapping her smooth legs around his waist and kissing him hard _–_

_Stoic, Nicolas, _he had reminded himself as he fiddled with the bouquet of peonies he held and shifted on his feet. God help him, he was nervous…but after she'd kissed him, he'd practically scooped her up and carried her out of the airport, to their car and into their new penthouse.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Blair bent down to pluck her now-wrinkled blouse from the floor. She snatched up Nicolas' belt and tossed it to him playfully, then reached up to assess the state of her hair. She winced at the mess of tangles caused by their rushed lovemaking.<p>

Nicolas took a seat on the bench they kept at the end of their bed while Blair perched at her dressing table and began removing her jewelry. "So," she said airily. "How did all of your meetings go since I've been gone?"

Nicolas looked up from pulling on his shoes. "They went well," he answered. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that we didn't get a chance to really talk about it in depth," Blair explained, winking at his reflection in the vanity mirror. "And you usually tease me at length with all the new fashions you've seen."

Nicolas shot her an impish grin before turning back to his shoes. "Truthfully, most of the brands I saw the first week were abysmal. You would have dismissed them before they had a chance to sit down."

Blair gave a tiny smile and reached up to unpin her hair. "And the second week?"

She saw him freeze for a moment as he was pulling off his left sock. He was looking into the distance at nothing in particular, but it seemed as though he was lost in thought.

Her mind raced: she knew that Nicolas had met with Jenny sometime during her second week in Paris. Did his sudden thoughtfulness have anything to do with her? She didn't trust that Brooklyn skank as far as she could throw her; what if she knew something? What if she had found out about Chuck stalking her, sending her notes, or worse…kissing her? She couldn't afford to have her working in any proximity to her fiancé.

"Nicolas?" she prodded.

He cleared his throat and went back to tugging off his sock. "The following week was much more successful," he replied amiably. "Actually, I met with an old schoolmate of yours. What was her name? Jenny…"

"Humphrey?" Blair supplied.

"Yes, that's it," Nicolas said, rising from the bench. He pulled off his jacket and started loosening his tie. "Humphrey."

A few moments passed in silence, and when Blair realized Nicolas didn't intend to elaborate further, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

"Did she mention me at all?"

Nicolas thought for a second before answering. "No," he said. "Not really. She said that she read about our engagement in the _Times_, and that she knew you from school. Oh, she offered her congratulations as well."

Blair snorted. "I'll bet she did."

"I take it you didn't like her?" Nicolas asked.

"Not in the slightest, darling," she said, rising from her vanity seat.

"Where are you going, _mon amour?"_

"I'm going to take a bath," Blair explained. "I need it after the flight, and you just finished getting me even more dirty. You don't mind, do you?"

Nicolas winked at her. "Not at all," he responded. "Shall we go out to dinner to celebrate your return?"

"That sounds wonderful," Blair said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She took a few quick steps to him and bent to kiss him softly, then retreated to their bathroom. As she soaked in the warm water, she let her mind wander:

_Chuck. Nicolas. How did it come to this? Chuck. Nicolas. I can't do this alone…_

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, she stepped out of the bathroom and Nicolas immediately wrapped his arms around her bare shoulders. "Mm, you smell good. New shampoo?"<p>

Blair stiffened in his embrace, guilt mingling with a sudden burst of adrenaline.

How could she be stupid enough to think that Nicolas wouldn't notice a change in her perfume? He noticed _everything_.

"It's my new perfume." She stumbled over the words, eager to get them out so that she could change the topic. "My mother gave it to me when I had lunch with her yesterday."

"What is it called?"

"J'adore," she replied, straining to create a believable smile.

"It's divine, _chérie_." Nicolas inhaled her scent deeply and sighed in appreciation. "And it suits you perfectly."

She flinched at his words.

Part of her wanted him to hate it, to understand what it suddenly meant to her now and who she equated it with. Because even though her mother had mentioned Nicolas as she handed Blair the gift wrapped bottle, the smell screamed Chuck Bass. It reeked of her attachment to him, the stain in her mind and her heart that she could never be rid of completely.

Spending more than a week away from Nicolas and Chuck was supposed to help her gain her bearings. By the time she returned to the States, she should have been more equipped to deal with Chuck's reentry into her life and what that meant to her fast-approaching marriage to Nicolas.

But Chuck had thrown a wrench into her plans, of course.

_Again._

Now she was even more confused. Did her guilt over her new perfume mean more than she had admitted to herself?

"Blair?"

"Yes?" Blair answered absently, turning in Nicolas' arms to face him. He looked expectant, as if he were waiting for her to answer a question.

"I was saying that I forgot a file at the office, but that I would pick up dinner on my way home," he said. "Can you wait to eat for a couple of hours?"

"Of course," she replied absently, already padding towards her closet, leaving her fiancée to get dressed himself.

As she rummaged through her closet, she found her thoughts wandering again. How could she feel such conflicting emotions for two different men? Nicolas made her deliriously happy with just a glance…but so did Chuck, in an altogether different way. Nicolas was a slow burning, sensual fire, while Chuck was the white-hot burning that could melt you down to your bones. Nicolas had come to know her extremely well during their relationship, but Chuck just _got her. _He understood her on a level that no one had or ever would. He knew her darkness and he knew her lightness, and he appreciated all of her flaws and all of her shortcomings.

What was she going to do? How had she allowed herself to be consumed with thoughts of that Basstard again, anyway? He'd hurt her terribly before…why was she even allowing herself to _consider_ him when he'd wind up betraying her again?

"That _fucking Basstard_…" she mumbled, rummaging through her purse for her cell phone.

"Did you say something, Blair?" Nicolas called from the other side of her closet door.

"No, darling," she returned sweetly. "I was just looking for my phone, but I found it. Let me know when you're on your way home."

She worried her lip for a moment before her fingers began typing out an urgent message:

_S, I need u. N is leaving in 5, please come now. –B_

* * *

><p>When Serena peeked around the open door twenty minutes later, she spied her best friend in an all-too familiar position: sitting on the bathroom floor, back pressed against the wall, legs extended in front of her. But there was something…different about the situation this time. She couldn't put her finger on what it was exactly; logical thought was buried instantly beneath her panic.<p>

"B?" Serena asked, kneeling carefully next to Blair. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Blair replied.

"But…what are you doing on the floor?"

"It's not what you think –"

"Then what is it?" Serena demanded. "I know that the wedding is getting closer and the stress is probably ridiculous, but that's no reason to…_relapse_."

"Oh, S," Blair began. "It isn't like that. I haven't –"

"Because you could _tell_ _me_," the blonde continued, reaching out to take Blair's hand. She stared at Blair intently, conveying a silent promise not to yell at her for anything she might have done. "I wouldn't judge you. And I wouldn't tell Nicolas, if that's what you're worried about –"

"It still smells like him," she heard Blair whisper.

"It…_what?"_ Serena asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"The wall," Blair answered.

"The wall…?" Serena shook her head and repositioned herself on the floor, crossing her legs. "Blair, you're not making any sense. Please, _please_ tell me what's wrong."

"Chuck," Blair supplied, then sighed.

Serena raised her brows in surprise. "And now you've completely lost me."

"The wall smells like Chuck," Blair said simply, as if it clarified everything. "And I haven't relapsed. Well…at least not in the way you think."

"Tell me," Serena pressed.

"It's strange," Blair continued as if she hadn't heard Serena speak. "It's been ages. Dorota had someone wallpaper over it and it's been painted more times than I can remember but I can still see the stain. I can still _smell_ it."

Blair dropped her hand to her side and lifted a white box with gold lettering. She pulled out the bottle of perfume nestled inside and glared at it.

"It's some kind of a curse," Blair said. "It keeps coming back to haunt me."

Serena looked down at the bottle in Blair's hand. "Blair, life isn't a fairytale," Serena reassured her. "There's no such thing as curses."

"But everything's spiraling out of control, S. I don't know what to do," she said, a desperate note in her voice. "Chuck followed me to Paris –"

"_He did what?"_

"– and he did the most un-Chuck-like thing! Well…_after _he sweet-talked Colette at my office _and then _faked being drunk to get into my hotel room _and then _kissed me" – Blair paused to take breath – "_that's _when he did the most un-Chuck-like – Serena, what are you _doing_?"

Serena glanced up from her phone with a murderous look in her eyes, her thumb already scrolling through her contacts. "I'm calling Chuck," she huffed. "I'm going to yell at him, and then I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Don't!" Blair shrieked, snatching the phone out of Serena's hands.

"Blair, you have to stop him!" Serena demanded. "You can't let Chuck keep doing this. Nicolas is going to find out and he's going to be _livid,_ and frankly, I don't know why you're not jumping through hoops to get as far away from Chuck as possible."

"I did," Blair replied. "I tried to get away from him, but you know how persistent the Basstard can be. He never stops."

Serena's eyes lit up. "I could have Nate talk to him."

Blair shot a disbelieving look at her best friend. "No offense, but Chuck can run circles around Nate. He wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of convincing him to do anything."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Honestly?" Blair sighed, looking down at the perfume in her hand again. "There's nothing I _can_ do. I've exhausted every option I have short of changing my name and moving to the other side of the world."

"He'd probably still find you even if you did," Serena snorted, and Blair smiled half-heartedly in return.

"Regardless," she murmured. "I don't know that I would _want_ to hide myself properly."

"What do you mean?"

"When Nicolas and I came back from France for the engagement party and I saw Chuck, I was livid," Blair said. "I saw him leaning up against his limo with that…_smirk _of his, and all of the anger came rushing back to me: anger about Jenny, the Empire Hotel, Jack…all of his lies. It was overwhelming.

"He gave me diamond earrings the next day," Blair continued. "But I gave them back to him. The earrings and the necklace he gave me for my seventeenth birthday. And that's when he kissed me on the street and you know what? I didn't stop him. I could have, but I didn't. And since then, I've been trying to ignore the horrible feeling that he wasn't the only one to blame.

"I don't think it's _just _Chuck's fault anymore," Blair explained. "I think I'm allowing him to get close to me. Because I'm not even…_upset _about it anymore. I'm not resigned, I'm not frustrated…I'm _encouraging _it. When Chuck kissed me, all I could think was that I didn't want it to end. I wasn't thinking about Nicolas while it was happening; it was like he didn't exist, and that's not a normal reaction!"

"But –"

"And now I'm terrified, S!" Blair cried, slamming the perfume box against the floor next to her. "What does this all mean? Am I just trying to get closure? Do I still love him? Is it even possible to love two men at the same time?"

"B, I don't know," Serena whispered. "It was different with me…when I was torn between Nate and Dan so long ago…"

"But how did you choose?" Blair begged. "How did you know that Nate was the one? _How?"_

Serena felt her heart twisting in her chest. She hated to see Blair in such pain…she wished she could tell her what she needed to hear. But the truth was, she didn't know how she knew Nate was the one, she just…_knew._ It really was that cliché: _she just knew._

"I'm so scared, S," Blair whimpered. "I still want him. God, I want him and it's ripping me apart inside."

Before she could speak, Blair had launched herself into Serena's arms. She whispered soothing sounds as she cradled her best friend's shaking body and wished she knew what to say to help. But there was a nagging in the back of her mind: perhaps this was a situation that couldn't be solved with words or advice. Maybe the only way she could help was by being a shoulder to cry on.

But as a fresh sob shook Blair, Serena resolved not to sit around and watch Blair destroy herself: she was going to do something about this problem.

* * *

><p>Serena rarely paced. She found a brisk walk through Central Park much more productive and therapeutic, not to mention less repetitive; plus, if she'd taken to pacing away all of the worries she'd had over the years, the soles of many pairs of shoes would have been worn through.<p>

But as the sun set on the city and cast its shadows across the bedroom floor, she paced with determination. The strain on her conscious was making her stomach do flip-flops and made it almost impossible to sit still. Her thumb had hovered over Nate's name in her cell phone more times than she could count.

She needed good advice or a stiff drink. Or both.

Her best friend was in a precarious position, one that Serena wasn't sure she could help with. Well, she _could_ help…she just didn't know whose side to take.

Despite their differences in the past, she and Chuck had become close. She admired his devotion to Bass Industries and secretly adored the affection he and their mother had for one another. Even their weekly family brunch seemed incomplete if he wasn't able to attend. Chuck Bass had become a true brother to her in recent years, and she never thought she'd say it, but she loved him.

Nicolas was a different story.

From the moment she'd heard her friend mention him, Serena knew he would be the one to finally make her happy, and any doubts she may have had were forgotten the moment she met him. There was no uncertainty, no best-friend-trial-period before she gave her stamp of approval; she'd fallen under his spell just as quickly as Blair had.

The way he looked at her – a heady mix of tenderness and desire – reminded her a bit of Chuck, but it wasn't…quite the same. The best way she could describe it to Nate was that Nicolas seemed _intense._ He indulged Blair but didn't spoil her, listened attentively when she argued and provided equally impassioned retorts, encouraged their freedom as individuals but insisted on time for "them". It was clear to Serena that he wanted very much for her to remain the strong, beautiful woman she was.

True, he'd made some mistakes. Once, Nicolas had incurred Blair's wrath by asking her why she had gone to NYU instead an Ivy. Serena still laughed when she remembered the frantic calls from Nicolas over the next few days: Blair had barred him from her office and her apartment and ignored all of his calls and texts. It was still early in their relationship and he sounded so sad and contrite, so Serena had taken pity on him and instructed him on how to get back into Blair's good graces.

But giving Blair the chateau without consulting her had been a disaster, even though the romantic in Serena saw how he hoped it would play out. And from what Blair had told her about their ensuing fight, he'd hit a few nerves with regards to her past with Chuck…but Blair admitted that she couldn't really hold it against him. She hadn't told him any details about their breakup, and from what Serena knew, she hadn't even told Nicolas that her ex was Chuck Bass until he crashed their engagement party.

But it was clear that Chuck had done the most damage to her best friend. He'd done things that still made Serena sick to her stomach to think about, but it wasn't _really _her fight so she'd forgiven him. And so, it seemed, had Blair.

Serena stopped pacing to perch on the edge of the bed she shared with Nate. Hearing Blair's confession about Chuck had rattled her, though she supposed she shouldn't be too surprised. Her two friends had a strange connection to each other, one that she wouldn't pretend to understand.

But to hear Blair say that she still _wanted_ Chuck was like stepping into their junior year of high school all over again, and remembering the haunted look in her eyes gave Serena goose bumps.

What had he done to her to make Blair Waldorf crack? What could he have said to make her love for Nicolas waver, to make her even consider throwing him away?

Yes, this was a problem. This was a _serious_ problem, and Serena didn't have a clue what to do…but she had to do something.

_Stop fidgeting and think_, she commanded herself. _What would Blair do if the situation was reversed?_

A laugh bubbled up as soon as she thought it: Blair would take out a hit on the ex-lover in question, obviously. Problem solved before dinner, and she wouldn't have even gotten her hands dirty. Or maybe Blair would order him to stay as far away from her friend as possible, lest she expose whatever terrible secret she'd uncovered to blackmail him with.

_Obviously a hit man is out of the question,_ Serena mused. _And there's nothing I could possibly blackmail Chuck with…as if I could ever get away with it._

She sat deep in thought for some time, running through the list of schemes she or Blair had run over the years. None sounded appropriate, however; these were people she loved, not hated. Scheming wouldn't solve anything in this situation. No, she needed to do something else, something…

_Oh, no. No, no, no, _she thought, falling back onto the bed._ This is not good. Stupid, dumb, naïve Serena. Why didn't I see this before?_

There was no need to meddle, not when the situation had already progressed as far as it had. Something had already been set into motion and no amount of scheming would be able to stop it. What she _needed _to do was damage control. She knew that all Nicolas wanted was Blair, and she knew Blair was playing a silent game of tug-of-war with her emotions concerning both of them, but just how far was _Chuck_ willing to go to win Blair back? Would this be an all-out war or would he go quietly? If it escalated, how could Serena stop him?

She bolted upright as a paralyzing train of thought began swimming through her mind: _would you really want to stop him? What if Blair's supposed to be with him after all, not Nicolas? If Blair wants him and she's only been back a month, what's it going to be like after a year? How far will this situation escalate before something terrible happens?_

"Shit," Serena hissed. "Shit, shit, shit."

She stood abruptly and snatched her purse from the bed, fingers already flying across the screen of her cell phone to tell Nate why she wouldn't be there when he got home.

_Going 2 Chuck's. Should be back for dinner. –S_

The elevator doors had barely closed when her phone beeped:

_Do u need help with anything? –N_

Serena smiled at his thoughtfulness and nearly took him up on his offer, but knew it would be best to talk to Chuck alone first. She needed to get a firmer grip on the situation before she brought in reinforcements.

_Just going 2 confirm Sunday in person. Call u on the way home xo –S_

She felt a twinge of guilt for lying to Nate, but she knew it was for the best. And it wasn't a _total_ lie: she fully intended to make sure her brother was at brunch that week. She hoped she was making the right decision by telling Chuck how Blair felt about him and letting the chips fall where they may.

_This could get ugly._

* * *

><p>The first thing Serena noticed when the elevator doors opened to Chuck's Empire penthouse was the smell: there wasn't the faintest hint of cigars, liquor, or pot. In fact, she detected fresh paint mixed with a recently cooked meal and…was that <em>popcorn?<em>

"Chuck?" she called.

"In here, sis," Chuck answered, voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

Serena started towards the rear of the penthouse, glancing at Chuck's bedroom out of habit – in the old days, she'd often find Blair standing near the bed, modeling dresses in the large mirror in the corner of the room. But she stopped dead at the sight that greeted her: there was nothing familiar about her brother's room at all.

Cream colored walls were sage green and large abstract oil paintings hung on them. The lighting was bright and so was the white furniture, which complemented the wall coloring and gave a meditative, clean feel. The flooring had been replaced by rich teak, cleverly placed rugs added to give extra warmth to the room. A large flat screen hung on the wall opposite the bed, which Serena noticed had also changed. It was low and made from a slightly lighter wood than the floor, with sleek lines and a modern feel. The cream-colored bed set looked warm and soft.

"Sis, did you get lost or someth – oh," Chuck said as he stood next to his sister, who was ogling the room with complete surprise. He shoved his hands in his pockets and took the opportunity to admire the transformation himself.

"I had it redone while I was in Paris," he explained. "I thought it was time…for a change."

Serena blinked slowly as she took in the new design. It didn't look like Chuck Bass' taste at all, but she had to admit that it looked _good._

"Come see the rest," Chuck said with a nod towards the door. Serena followed him out and felt her jaw drop when she saw the rest of the penthouse.

"Who are you," she said, dazed. "And what have you done with my brother?"

The pool table was gone and replaced by two crimson chairs, a small oval table and a huge sheepskin rug. A fireplace had been added where his pool cues had once been displayed. The remainder of the furniture had been swapped out for pieces that complemented the walls, which had been lightened several shades. A low table sat between the large couch and a large flat screen television.

The only thing that remained the same was the bar in the back corner of the sitting room, but the chairs had been replaced and the cabinet was now the same bright white as his bedroom furniture.

It looked…_light._

"What do you think?"

"I think…that there's no way you had all this done in a few days."

"I'm Chuck Bass," he replied with a shrug. "And you haven't even seen the kitchen yet."

"Why?" Serena asked, turning to face him. "I mean, I like it. A lot. But this is a _huge_ transformation, Chuck. It doesn't seem like your style."

"I told you, I just thought it was time for a change."

"I heard you the first time," Serena said, moving to the couch to sit. "But what sparked the need for change in the first place?"

Chuck's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before running his fingers across his jaw line. Serena knew it was his attempt at nonchalance and realized she wouldn't get a real answer from him without careful prodding.

"It just came to me, sis," he said. "Now, I was just about to watch a movie. Popcorn's getting cold – do you want to join?"

"_Popcorn_, Chuck?" Serena inquired.

"I was under the impression that's what most people eat when they go to the movie theaters."

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. "Fine," she said. "I'll have some, but I'm not staying for the whole movie. Nate and I have dinner plans."

Chuck nodded and disappeared, reemerging a moment later with a large bowl of popcorn. He took a handful before he handed it to her and sat down.

"Well," he said a minute later, after swallowing a few pieces. "It leaves something to be desired, but it isn't completely repugnant."

Serena smiled at him and popped a few kernels in her mouth. "Remember when we all watched movies at Blair's house when as kids," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "And she refused to let us eat popcorn? Instead Dorota made those little –"

"Pastries and mini-cakes," Chuck finished quietly. "I remember."

Serena glanced up at the wistfulness of his voice. His previous excitement from showing her his redecorated penthouse had faded and he appeared to be lost in thought.

_Probably about Blair,_ Serena thought. _Now's your chance to find out what his intentions are._ _Well…no use beating around the bush._

"She still cares for you, Chuck," Serena said softly, testing the waters.

"I know," Chuck admitted.

Serena raised her brows. "You do?" she asked.

Chuck nodded and threw an arm across the back of the couch. "Way ahead of you, sis. We've discussed it at length: she'll always be my friend. _Just_ my friend."

"But –"

"No, it's fine," he assured her. "_I'm_ fine. I've accepted it. I've been a fool since the moment I fell in love with her. You saw what I did to her; I took advantage of her love and used it to suit my own twisted ambitions...I treated her like she meant _nothing _to me…"

He shook his head slightly as Serena shifted uncomfortably in her seat, well aware of what he meant. She had forgiven him for his behavior, yes, but it had been years since it had been brought up between them.

"And she didn't have to offer me her friendship," he continued. "Especially after how I've acted since she came back from France."

Serena blinked at him in amazement. The pain in his voice made it clear that fresh wounds had been opened recently, but she had never heard Chuck speak quite that way before. Had he really grown up the way Blair had claimed?

"So you're…over her?" she ventured.

Chuck tightened his jaw and looked down at his coffee table, eyeing its centerpiece like it was about to spring to life at any moment. Several silent moments passed before he spoke again.

"No," he answered finally. "I'll never be over her."

Serena exhaled in relief. He'd done terrible things to Blair in the past, but he was a different man now, and she knew that she was doing the right thing. He deserved the chance to pursue Blair, and he deserved to know what Serena knew before he decided to give up or continue fighting for her. He deserved to know the _truth_.

She reached out to take his hand to command his attention.

"She still loves you," she whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

Chuck looked up at her then, his gaze so intensely _hopeful_ that she was almost reduced to tears. But before she could blink, his body slumped – all of the light and brightness had gone out.

"I suppose she does…in her own way," Chuck acquiesced solemnly. He sighed and dropped his head down, covering his face with his hands. "But not the way I want her to. I've tried _everything_, Serena."

"Bullshit," his sister declared, tossing her golden hair over her shoulder. "You've done nothing but scheme to get her back since you saw her again."

Chuck raised his head to glare at her. "Now, listen –"

"Hush," Serena instructed. "You listen to _me_. You know there was no part of me that sympathized with you when Blair left you years ago. You did terrible things to her. But I realized something, Chuck.

"It's been five years…and you're still a wreck," she continued in a softer tone. "You've been hiding your pain and your guilt so well that even I didn't notice it until Blair came back. And at first, I thought that you just couldn't stand to see her in love and marrying someone other than you. I thought you were scheming to make her suffer or break up her marriage. But you still hate yourself for what you did to her."

"Stop," Chuck warned.

"I understand what's been going on now," Serena pushed. She had no intention of stopping, not until she found out exactly how far Chuck was willing to go. "You were falling apart, _dying_ after Blair left, and now it's like…you've come back to life."

"Serena."

"You never stopped loving her. You're in _pain_."

He winced at her last words. Yes, he was in pain: he was being forced to watch the love of his life marry a man who wasn't him. He had to watch Blair get her fairytale ending from _someone else_, because he'd gone and fucked it up too badly to be fixed.

"No wonder you're been acting…like you have," Serena continued. "You can't even drink it away, can you?"

He shook his head slowly. "If I thought it would help, I would."

"So what are you going to do?"

Chuck fiddled with his cufflinks. "I suppose I'm going to do nothing."

"Nothing?" Serena scoffed. "But, Chuck –"

"That's _enough_," Chuck growled. "I'm not going to do anything because Blair's not mine anymore. She's in love with Nicolas and she's going to marry him."

"But you still love her," she said gently. She reached out to put her hand on his, but he recoiled from her touch and flew to his feet.

"It doesn't matter how I feel, it's over!" he shouted. "And weren't you just here a few weeks ago begging me to leave Blair alone, because she was engaged and off-limits? God, Serena, this isn't a game. This is Blair's _life_."

Serena shot up from the couch and sent the bowl of popcorn flying. "Yes, it's Blair's life," she snapped. "But did it cross your mind before you just _gave up_ that you might still have a chance? That _maybe_ she would start to fall for you again? You're back in her life now whether you like it or not. So you don't get to take the easy way out, Chuck Bass."

"I am _not_ taking the easy way out," he grumbled.

"Yes, you are," Serena fired back. "She's two months away from going down the aisle and you're scared shitless because you might lose her for good. I mean, am I supposed to believe that Blair _asked_ you to be just friends and you just _gave in_ without a fight?"

"That's exactly what happened," Chuck said. "And if you don't believe me, ask the future Mrs. Faria."

Serena shook her head. "That doesn't sound like you at all."

"You didn't think my remodeling 'looked like me', did you?" he retorted. "The penthouse, it turns out, isn't the only thing that's getting an upgrade."

"I think you're making a mistake –"

"I'm not," Chuck interjected. "I'm going to be a new man. Things are different now…can't you feel it, sis? When you look at your life, does it still feel the same way that it did a year ago? How about five years ago?"

"Of course my life is different: I grew up," Serena snapped. "But you're forcing yourself to change without knowing what that even means. You haven't earned your growth and you certainly haven't really learned anything – except that when you don't get what you want, you can just run away – and because of that, your 'growth' isn't _real_."

"Who are you to judge whether it's real or not?"

"I know what it's like to force yourself to grow up, to _induce _a personality change," Serena shot back. "Do yourself a favor and find out why you're making this change. Is it because you honestly want to be different, or is it because you're trying to change into someone Blair could love? Someone like…Nicolas?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Have you been watching _Lifetime_ movies?"

"Fine," she huffed, snatching her purse from the couch. "I came to let you know that you still have a chance with Blair, but if you're just going to be an asshole, forget it. Do what you want. But so help me, Chuck: when the day comes that you regret letting Blair go – and it will – I won't let you anywhere near her."

She whirled around and stomped towards the elevator then, her finger stabbing hard at the button. Chuck watched her with fists clenched tightly at his sides and ears ringing with her prediction.

"And don't forget about brunch this weekend," she said as the elevator doors opened. "Unless that's something the _new_ Chuck Bass doesn't do."

"I'll be there," he grumbled at the now-empty penthouse. His fists gradually unclenched as he looked down at the popcorn strewn across the floor.

_At least she didn't break anything,_ he mused.

A few minutes later, the popcorn had been picked up from the floor and he'd washed the bowl before putting it away. When his stomach started rumbling, he made his usual call to room service and sat down on the couch to wait.

When Serena had started talking about Blair, he could actually feel his insides boiling. It was hard enough dealing with the consequences of being "just friends" with her on his own, but adding his sister to the mix? It was a miracle that he didn't lose his temper completely.

It was obvious that Serena was just looking out for him. She had a heart of gold and it hurt her to see him in pain. Hell, it hurt _him_, too. His entire family had been holding their breath for years, hoping he would find someone to replace Blair. They probably would have been content if he'd brought anyone to brunch, but he remained completely unattached.

Over the years, he'd wondered why being alone suddenly felt so terrible. His father had never really been around when he was growing up and he hadn't exactly formed close relationships with his nannies. Truthfully, Nate had been the only constant in his life until Blair came along. But with Blair came Serena, Lily, Eric, and both sets of Blair's parents, and when she disappeared from his life he was still left with his adopted family and Nate. He was well-loved now, but he felt just as alone as he had growing up.

It was strange, he often mused, how such an emotionless child could become a man who craved love.

Particularly, Blair's love.

He saw the truth in Serena's words; regret over letting Blair go would surely come swiftly. Long before her wedding, he was sure. But he just couldn't continue trying to trap her into spending time with him. He'd kissed her twice and she gave absolutely no indication that she would leave Nicolas, what more could he do – apart from take her against her wishes and tell her fiancé what had happened? No, neither the old nor "new" Chuck Bass would ever do something so vile.

Admitting defeat seemed like the most viable option, as far as he was concerned. The last five years hadn't killed him. Why not just live in solitude for the rest of his life? What did he really have to lose? Bass Industries would flourish without any distractions, and perhaps down the road he would meet someone who didn't bore him after only a few days.

Well, he'd have to think about _that_ another time; his stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought.

The ding of his elevator interrupted his ruminations.

"Mr. Bass?"

Chuck stood at the sound of the distinctive baritone voice. "Matthew?"

The tall, lanky private investigator walked with long, smooth strides through the entryway and into the living room. He stopped a several feet from Chuck and clasped his hands behind his back, a habit he'd picked up in the military many years before.

"I tried to reach you on your cell phone several times this afternoon, sir," the man explained. "You instructed me to be in touch as soon as possible."

Chuck's ears perked up. "You have the information I requested?"

"Yes, sir," Matthew replied, unclasping his hands to reach into the inside pocket of his jacket. He withdrew a thin envelope and held it out for Chuck to take.

"Thank you for bringing this by, Matthew," the young billionaire said, anxious to read its contents. "That will be all for now."

With a small dip of his head, the PI took his leave. Not a moment was wasted; Chuck slid a finger under the envelope's partially sealed flap before the elevator doors had closed again. His heart had begun to gallop in his chest and he surprised himself by his chanting; he had never been religious nor had any inclinations to try it, but he was suddenly seized by a desperate attempt to call in any favors he could:

_Please, God, don't let it be serious. Nothing serious, nothing serious, God. _

This was Blair's father, after all. He knew the pain of losing a parent, knew it _very_ well, and it was something he never wanted to happen to Blair. Especially not her father. Not the man she adored and loved more than anyone else in the world. She would be absolutely devastated if she lost him.

_Please let it be good news. Please._

He almost ripped the contents as he tugged them free and threw the envelope aside. The papers unfolded like an accordion in his hands.

_Please, please, he's a good man, don't let it be bad news, please._

Dark eyes skimmed the first page and nearly destroyed the documents as he flipped to the next page, then everything became a blur.

The next thing he processed clearly was yanking shirts and pants from his closet and throwing them into an open suitcase on his bed. He jerked the dresser drawers open and practically poured their contents into the suitcase – belts, suspenders, socks, underwear – before remembering the phone in his pocket.

"_You've reached Bass Industries, this is -"_

"Maria," Chuck barked into the receiver as he tore through his bathroom for the essential toiletries. "Get the Bass jet ready. _Now."_

"_Mr. Bass, of course!" _his secretary squeaked. _"Where –"_

"Lyon," he snapped. "Get a helicopter ready as well – I want to take off within the hour. Tell the board I'm taking a leave of absence."

* * *

><p><em>Yes, yes...this came out much later than I anticipated, and there are probably a dozen or so mistakes. But it was twice as long as I originally intended, so does that help? :) Btw, I think you all know by now how much I love cliffhangers...so I have to warn you, all I have for the next chapter is an outline. With school and work and life, it will be...a little while before I update. <em>

_But for now I'd like to thank _**ivorykeys09**_, who has really gone above and beyond to lend a hand with this story!_

_Also, as always, thank you to everyone who has added alerts to CS. It really makes me smile! – though not as much as my reviewers: TerraBeth, ivorykeys09, MegamiTenchi, Breakfastinwonerland, ellibells, 88Mary88, LeftWriter224, TriGemini, Temp02, Cruzin' Bosco, Nice (thanks!), and annablake (I promise I'll be responding soon! :) )_


	12. Chapter 12

If you received this alert in your email or clicked a link because my story jumped to the top of the story list, I apologize...this is **not** an update and I am so, so very sorry if I've disappointed anyone. You are all such wonderful individuals – every alert and review has made writing Collision Sparks worth the excitement and (occasional) agony that came along with it. The lovely ladies (and gentlemen!) I've met here are incomparable. You've all made my little author's heart grow so much.

But for those of you who haven't given up on me yet...I need your help.

When I took a break from writing C/B last year, it was because I had dreamed up a pairing of my own. The pair soon became a trio, a family or two, a village…and then it snowballed and became a novel. In December, I entered a three-round competition to get that novel edited, marketed, and published. I made it through Round One (decided by popular vote) and Round Two (decided by a panel of 10 judges)…now I'm one of FIVE authors left standing in the last round.

This is where I really need your help: I need as many votes as possible to win. All you need is an email address. If you vote for me and I win, you can enter to win the Synergy Prize: a Google Nexus tablet for yourself! Um, awesome!

**So here's what you do to vote (type this in your browser, you guys know the drill with links on this site!): tinyurl dot com forward slash afwts8h **

**And here's what you're voting for: "The Last Life, Book One of the (Im)mortality Trilogy" by Holly Goodman**

And here's a** BONUS: you get a sneak peek of the _first 30 pages!_ **Find the synopsis under the "Speculative" tag and click the link there…happy reading!

Now that you got more than you bargained for and you're probably ready to tear your hair out: _What's going on with the story? Am I chucking it out the window? Have I given up? Why have I left you in the dust?!_ I get an alert every week or so telling me that one of you has discovered CS and added it to your alerts and each time this happens, I feel guilty for not updating. And…well, some already know about the fate of CS – it's still in the back of my mind and the story notes are still intact – but for those who are unaware, I do plan to continue and finish the story…in the future. But life gets in the way and unfortunately, for right now, my priorities are work and getting my novel ready for query. Again, I'm sorry if I got your hopes up with this alert. I hope that I can return to CS and regular updates soon.

Last but not least, THANK YOU to everyone who won't hold my lack of updates against me and will vote…you can find me on tumblr (the link is in my profile – at the top you can also find the link to vote!) where I will post the results (announced on Valentine's Day). Thank you for your continued support and may 2013 be your best year ever!

xoxo – Spiros


End file.
